


Land of Pastries and Turtlenecks

by Demixian



Series: The 'Land of...' Series [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Related, F/F, M/M, book of mormon - Freeform, elder smith, elder white, fuck you greer i can write what I want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demixian/pseuds/Demixian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Elder Smith and Elder White go to France to serve their holy mission, only to meet four eccentric British elders, what shenanigans could entail in the land of pastries and turtlenecks?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tennis, Lunch and Perfect Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some elders from across the pond startle Americans with the F word.

As yet another pesky little fly lands on the hard-working young missionary's forehead, Elder Bobby Smith of the Utah division of mormon missionaries grunts in annoyance and swats it away. His mission companion isn't too far away, just a little further down the garden, trying fruitlessly to haul a gigantic wooden lid over the scarily deep plunge pool.

 

"Who the heck even has these things anymore, anyways?" he asks angrily, catching himself from slipping and falling straight down about a mile into the ground. "Agh!"

 

"This is an old house, Elder White," Bobby replies, frowning slightly as his companion makes a complete fool of himself, falling face first into a pile of freshly raked leaves. "Oh, come on!"

 

"Surruh," comes Elder White's muffled reply. Bobby can already deduce that the keeping of this house will be a pain and with his luck, he'll probably get the short end of the stick and end up having to do all the chores. He hates chores. That isn't an exaggeration, he really does have something against them. Still, somebody's got to get rid of that gargantuan wasp's nest in the bathroom.

 

"Hey, where are the other missionaries? We still haven't met them. This isn't right," Bobby observes, momentarily stopping his robotic wiping down of the outdoor dining table. As if they'll ever use it in THIS heat.

 

"Gee, I'm not sure. They really should be here by now, maybe we should call--" Elder White begins, just as the sound of a key jiggling around in a lock comes from the front door. Bobby immediately panics, noticing his pulled up shirtsleeves and Elder White's frankly pitiable state.

 

"Quick! Fix yourself up, Elder, they're here!" Bobby hisses, pulling his shirtsleeves down and rushing to the nearest reflective surface. The door opens and the previously rather dim room is lit up by the harsh light of the swelteringly hot French sun. Three slightly sunburnt young men march in, two of which are carrying plastic bags presumably filled with groceries. A fourth walks in, and Bobby is instantly intrigued as he registers the fourth's oak-brown skin. It shocks him quite a bit, having gotten so used to almost all mormons being white and of a definite ethnicity. Now, don't think this makes him in any way racist. Bobby isn't racist, he is merely…observant. The first elder to walk in is rather lanky and tall, much like Bobby's old friend, Joe, from Salt Lake. Only, somehow, this man is lankier.

 

"Put the bread and stuff over there, Bullock," he says to another, far rounder, elder. Bobby practically gasps at the man's seemingly _British_ accent. It wasn't as extremely posh and proper as Bobby had always thought British accents were, though it was still pretty British, considering.

 

"Fuck, did I leave my bike unchained?" the larger one -- apparently called 'Bullock' -- (also with a British accent) asks, whipping his head back to the door. Bobby practically chokes at this, specifically at the elder's choice of language, as the third, shorter, fair-haired elder marches after the first two, the darker one by his side. Bobby's little outburst attracts the others' attention, and they all instantly give wide, cheesy smiles, including the darker one (all with remarkably good smiles, considering, Bobby notices).

 

"Hello!"

 

"Uh…hi!" Bobby and Elder White reply, plastering on smiles as well.

 

"Dear Lord, they're _American_ ," the first elder mutters, as astonished as Bobby had been of their own nationality.

 

"Well, what a pleasure it is to see the new missionaries here so early! You must be famished!" Bullock says in a tone so starkly different to that of the one he used when wondering aloud about his bike, Bobby can't believe it's the same person. "You two up for a bit of pudding? We were planning on cracking open the sorbet now, might as well join in!"

 

"Uh, sure, I guess," Bobby says, shooting Elder White a confused look that his companion returns. They both follow the four other elders into the kitchen and the third, still unnamed elder begins introducing them.

 

"I am Elder Morgan, this is my mission partner, Elder Reigns. That's our district leader, Elder Misra, and that's his mission partner, Elder Bullock," he babbles, pointing to each elder in turn (The elder who had asked Elder Bullock to place the groceries on a small table near the kitchen is apparently Elder Reigns and the darker-skinned elder is Elder Misra), talking so fast and in such a thick accent that it was rather hard to understand him. Bobby and Elder White snicker slightly at the term 'mission partner'. It sounds as if they're referring to lovers, rather than their colleagues. "Pleased to meet the both of you. Your names?"

 

"Uh, haha, I'm Elder Smith," Bobby says between chuckles, still smirking slightly.

 

"And I'm Elder White." (I trust you can guess who says this).

 

"Very nice to meet you, elders," the one called Elder Misra says, putting a hand out to shake. Despite this being a perfectly innocent gesture, Bobby feels slightly uncomfortable, silently rejecting the handshake.

 

"Yeah, you too," he says, ever so slightly cold. The other three elders all look a little unsettled, coughing quietly.

 

"Hey, so, it sounds like you guys are British. I didn't realize there were English missionaries," Elder White says in an attempt to start conversation again.

 

"Oh, yes," Elder Reigns says, relieved to have the tension lifted. "Well, my parents converted while I was still just 3 years old. We're fairly recent converts, but I qualified for my mission once the time rolled around."

 

"Same here," the other two white elders say, nodding in agreement.

 

"My parents have been Mormons since the 1970s," Elder Misra says, with a surprisingly lighter accent than Bobby had expected. It sounds more like a mixture of Indian and British, leaning more on the British side. "I have been a Mormon as well since the day I was born."

 

"Alright, mate, no need to brag," Elder Bullock says, giving a small smile and nudging his companion.

 

"I'm just keeping conversation," Misra replies, nudging Bullock back. Bobby coughs pointedly, wanting the attention back on him.

 

"Yeah, well, my whole family's been Mormon, dating pretty much all the way back to Joseph Smith's time. Neat, huh?" he says pridefully, sticking his chin up in the air.

 

"Not surprising, really. You're American, so, you're either a total protestant or a Mormon," Elder Bullock quips, shrugging, walking over to the groceries and taking out the ice cream. "Oh, shit, I think it's melting."

 

"Well then, put in the fridge! For goodness' sakes, you aren't completely stupid, Elder Bullock," Elder Morgan snaps, whacking the other on the shoulder. Elder Bullock recoils, hastily running over to the refrigerator and placing the ice cream in the freezer.

 

"Sorry, guys, I'm afraid it'll have to wait a bit. You don't want horrible, melted sorbet, now do you?" Elder Bullock says as he does all of this.

 

"Uh, no…I guess…" Bobby agrees, still shocked by Elder Bullock's earlier...creative use of language.

 

"While you're waiting, anybody up for a spot of tennis?" Elder Morgan asks, grinning around hopefully. Elder Bullock mockingly imitates Elder Morgan, mumbling

 

"A _spot_ of tennis!" in a prim, very camp voice. Bobby politely snickers at this (as politely as one can snicker) before saying

 

"Uh, Elders, may I ask just why you were all out for so long? Me and Elder White arrived over an hour ago and we didn't see a single one of you." All the other elders break out into titters.

 

"Not half clingy, you are," Elder Bullock says, chuckling. "We were just out having some lunch."

 

"L-lunch?" asks Bobby incredulously. "B-but it's two-o-clock!"

 

"Listen, mate, this is France, not likely we're going to be persuading anybody to join our church if we is barging into their homes at bloody _one-o-clock on the dot_ , eh?" Elder Bullock replies, his accent suddenly thickening. It sounds anything but posh, Bobby thinks, it's more akin to that of a British-equivalent of a Brooklyn accent than anything else. "They take their lunch breaks for three hours. You know what they're like, lazy fuckers."

 

"Oh, _my_!" Bobby exclaims, still not at all expecting this. The other elders all titter again at his exclamation before Elder Morgan makes an exasperated 'humph!' sound, shutting them all up.

 

"Elder Bullock, _do_ hold back on the swearing, will you?" he asks the other elder politely, giving him a slight glare. Bullock gives a very sarcastic smile and a nod, rolling his eyes ostentatiously afterwards.

 

"I'm terribly sorry, Elders," Elder Reigns cuts in, looking rather embarrassed of the show being put on by his fellows. "Did you want a drink at all?"

 

"Uh, that's fine…me and my companion--" the other elders fight to hold back laughs at the term, evidently just as humoured by the American's term as Bobby was of the Brits', "--will just go do all our p-day stuff…you know…reading through the handbook, etcetera, etcetera. We'll see you guys later."

 

"You _sure_ you aren't up for a bit of tennis? We still have an hour. Could get in a couple matches. Come on, not like the Lord's got anything wrong with it, right?" Elder Bullock asks them, picking up a bright blue racket that hangs on the wall. He shrugs as Bobby and Elder White shake their heads slightly in declination. "No? Alright. How 'bout you, Morgan?"

 

"Uh…no, no, I don't think I will after all. We seem to have rather disturbed our new American compadres. I might as well make it my responsibility to make them feel welcome, seeing as I seem to be the only one here who _knows how hospitality works_ ," Elder Morgan replies pointedly, glaring at Elder Bullock meaningfully.

 

Bobby and Elder White simply walk up the creaky stairs, not daring to intervene again. It's odd, Bobby thinks, that his brothers happen to all be British -- excluding the one of undetermined descent, though Bobby shall find out at some point so that he can stereotype accordingly -- but maybe these guys aren't so bad. After all, aren't British people the most polite people there are?


	2. One Bad Curry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elder Smith and Elder White continue to be amazed by their brothers' ability to shock and disgust them so thoroughly within hours of knowing them.

Bobby carefully folds his clothes (almost all of which are identical white shirts, black ties and black trousers), placing each item in the top two drawers. There are about 3 pairs of the same white shirt, three pairs of black trousers and two black ties. Elder White patiently waits for his companion to finish filling his dressing drawer as he folds all of his own clothes into neat squares.

The room is uncomfortably hot, making Bobby sweat slightly. He is _not_ impressed with this. Hell will freeze over twice before he allows the mere suggestion of a armpit sweat stain on one of his nice shirts, so he walks over to the window and opens the mullioned windows, letting in a refreshing gust of relatively cool air. He stands there for a second, balled fists resting on his hips, gazing out at the beautiful view that the window grants him. Lush green trees that belong to nobody and are free to use, a clear blue sky and a sun that Bobby can't describe because he is holding his hand up to shield his eyes from it. The view is beautiful.

For a moment.

Then a colony of ridiculously large flies comes rushing inside, almost knocking Bobby over completely. They buzz frantically around the room, some of them mindlessly going round in circles and some zooming downstairs. Bobby hears a faint

 

"Bloody hell!" coming from outside the room followed by several consecutive whacking sounds. He hastily composes himself, ducking and sprinting out of the room.

 

“They only went and opened the fucking windows!” someone (almost certainly Elder Bullock) shouts angrily. Bobby stumbles downstairs, rather annoyed by both the other man's tone and the fact he's almost certain he swallowed one of those ghastly things.

 

"Uh, yeah, it was me. Sorry 'bout that," he confesses, still cowering from the flies.

 

"Well, don't open the window in future, alright?" Elder Bullock says, his tone suddenly a bit calmer. “Now, Reigns, how come Elder Smith and the other one didn't get any fly tape in their room?”

 

"Ah, yes. Sorry, I forgot," Elder Reigns replies, quickly running into the kitchen to find some of the aforementioned fly tape, which Bobby can only assume is some sort of bug catcher. He notices that there are long strips of honey-orange tape hanging from the ceilings, dotted with large black specks. These are, clearly, flies that have foolishly gotten stuck to the tape. Although this looks positively disgusting, he supposes it's better than having armies of flies buzzing around your room constantly.

Elder Reigns emerges with a small roll of the tape and demonstrates how to use it, walking upstairs with Bobby to show him where in the room to put it (apparently, smack in the middle of the ceiling is the best place). Bobby gives him an appreciative smile, and Elder White -- who had taken refuge in the bathroom -- re-enters the room and looks slightly confused by the strip of tape. He goes to touch it, but Elder Reigns hastily bats his hand away.

 

"This is incredibly sticky, it can damage your skin. Don't ever touch it, alright?" he warns the both of them, looking particularly stern.

 

"Gotcha," Bobby says, nodding. Elder White gives his own understanding nod, and Elder Reigns replaces his stern stare with a toothy smile, walking back downstairs. It seems that he was in the middle of getting ready for tennis, as he already has most of the proper attire on.

 

"Hey, maybe we should go play for a couple matches," Elder White suggests. "I mean, what harm could it do?"

 

"No, no, no, this is prep day. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and we need to make sure we prepare ourselves for all the labour we’ll be doing. We need to plan our route for tomorrow's proselytization, and we need to discuss with the other elders what routes they'll be taking so that we don't overlap, and we need to decide what chores we are to be undertaking, and we need to finish unpacking. there are a million things we still have to do before we can start playing any tennis matches, Elder.”

 

"…Right…well, I'm gonna go play some tennis, but I'll be back to do all that stuff later," Elder White says, turning around to walk out but immediately being stopped in his tracks by a slightly irate Bobby.

 

"No! We need to be within earshot of each other, remember?"

 

"So? Come with me!" Elder White chirps, smiling hopefully.

 

"…Ugh, fine," Bobby finally submits, making a small sound of exasperation. "But neither of us have tennis outfits."

 

"Oh well, we can just watch," Elder White replies, shrugging. Bobby sighs, reluctantly following his companion.

 

***

 

  
When they arrive at the tennis courts nearby, it’s not hard to put a voice to a name.

 

“ _Fuck a duck_ , Reigns, there’s no need to hit it so bloody hard.”

 

“It’s your damn fault for not catching it, innit?”

 

“Fuck off, mate.”

Bobby and Elder White hover at the main gate to the tennis courts, both considering just going back and leaving the elders to their excessive swearing. Maybe it’s just a British thing, but Bobby seems to remember something in the handbook about not swearing or using blasphemous language.

 

“Twenty-five, love,” Elder Morgan announces, evidently having had enough of Reigns and Bullock’s aggressive banter at this point and trying his best to get the game to progress..

 

“ _Twenty-five, love_ ,” Elder Bullock mockingly repeats, putting on a very prim, girlishly high voice.

 

“As I’ve said before,” Elder Morgan groans, rubbing his temples. “They’re proper tennis terms. It’s just how you keep track of the points.”

 

“Sure, _love_ ,” Elder Bullock replies, winking and giving a condescending smirk. “Look, just say twenty-five-nil. Much easier.”

 

“I can’t say ‘twenty-five-nil’.” Elder Morgan growls through gritted teeth. “Because those are football terms. If I say ‘twenty-five-nil’, that would imply you’d made twenty-five perfect hits, and you HAVEN’T.”

 

“Then say two-nil!” Elder Bullock drawls irately, rolling his eyes.

 

“I CAN’T SAY BLOODY TWO-NIL BECAUSE THE SCORE ISN’T TWO-NIL, IT’S TWENTY-FIVE BLOODY LOVE!”

 

Elder Reigns and Elder Bullock go quiet, giving each other amused sideways looks.

 

“Oh, would you boys shut up?” Elder Misra cuts in from the sidelines, looking at about boiling point. “It’s tennis, for goodness’ sake. Not the bloody olympics! You are scaring the Americans.”

 

Bobby and Elder White jump slightly at their mention. They both laugh awkwardly, giving rather uncertain grins. Bobby has counted the uses of the word ‘Bloody’ since they got here and so far he thinks that he’s on about four times, but he bets there were more.

 

“Sorry mate. It’s the sun, innit? Gets us all worked up. Especially when this prick over here—“

 

“So! Guys! Me and Elder White thought we’d just, uh, y’know, pay you all a visit down here to check up on things, and maybe discuss proselytizng routes? Or, you know, if you guys don’t feel up to it, we can always just, uh, hang out and, um, watch you guys play some tennis or something.” Bobby pipes up, rather sick of being ignored.

 

“Ah, Elder, why don’t you come and sit with us? Elder Reigns and Elder Bullock need some time to cool off, best we leave them alone, eh?” Elder Morgan suggests, patting a spot on the bench next to him and Misra. Bobby and Elder White both walk over to the bench and sit down politely, allowing Elder Morgan to strike up conversation as Elder Reigns and Elder Bullock return to their game. Elder Morgan hasn’t changed his clothes at all except for his shoes, which are plain white trainers. most likely to save him from having to de-sand his nice black shoes later. Elder Misra sits on the other end of the bench, reading the Book of Mormon. Well, at least somebody remembers what they’re here for.

 

“Elder Morgan,” Bobby says in a hushed tone, leaning in next the mildly sunburnt young man. “Um, of what…ethnic background does Elder Misra happen to come from?”

 

“Pardon me?” Elder Morgan hisses, recoiling.

 

“Oh, I was just wondering,” Bobby replies innocently, smiling reassuringly.

 

“Right…” Elder Morgan says, slightly colder this time. He seems unsettled, and Bobby wonders why. “Well, I think you’d have to ask Elder Misra himself.”

 

“Ask me what?” Elder Misra cuts in, smiling gently. He doesn’t sound cold or offended, just intrigued.

 

“Elder…what was it? Smith? Elder Smith over here would like to know what your…. _ethnic background_ is,” Elder Morgan explains, pronouncing the consonants eerily clearer than usual. Elder Misra looks vaguely confused for a second, cocking his head to the side slightly and furrowing his brow. For a moment, he keeps this expression, before smiling softly again and saying

 

“Oh, well, my mother is Sri Lankan and my father…I believe my father is Pakistani, but I am not certain. They don’t discuss race with me very much.”

 

“Oh,” Bobby says, furrowing his own brow. He was almost certain that Elder Misra was either Indian or African. This isn’t fair, he doesn’t know anything about Sri Lanka or Pakistan. How is he supposed to know what Elder Misra is like if he doesn’t even know anything about these countries?

 

***

 

That evening, Elder Bullock makes an extremely spicy curry for dinner.

 

“You rat bastard,” Elder Reigns says, briefly after choking on his food. “You know I can’t stand strong spices.”

 

“Well then why did you eat the curry? You know I don’t fuck around with this stuff, Reigns,” Elder Bullock retorts, rolling his eyes.

 

“I was expecting it to be a little bit hot but not _flaming_. Are you _trying_ to poison me?”

 

“Well, I mean, I’ve got the motives.”

 

Elder Bullock takes a large spoonful of his curry and downs it in one, barely flinching. Bobby has been discreetly ignoring his soup, pretending to be enthralled with the dialogue exchange.

 

“Pre-meditated murder aside, I think it’s about time we all discuss tomorrow’s proselytization routes,” Elder Morgan pipes up formally, straightening his tie with a flourish. “Elder Bullock, Elder Misra?”

 

“Cahors,” the two young men say in unison, causing the both of them to look at each other in surprise before quietly muttering “Eyyyyyy,” (again in unison).

 

“Right…and Elder Reigns, did you plan us a route yet?” Elder Morgan proceeds to ask the disgruntled-looking young man across from him, glancing over at him expectantly. Elder Reigns, who has been glaring rather angrily at his inedible curry, looks up and rolls his eyes.

 

“That was _your_ job.”

 

“No, I’m fairly sure I delegated the planning to _you_ just this morning,” Elder Morgan replies sternly, furrowing his brow at him.

 

“Well I don’t remember that,” Elder Reigns retorts, glaring at his companion and receiving an angered glare back.

 

“Well then you’ll have to plan it now, won’t you?” Elder Morgan shoots back, absent-mindedly taking a large spoonful of curry and pointedly eating the whole blob. One drawn out coughing fit later, a scarlet-faced Elder Morgan takes a large gulp of water and adds “Y-you better do it fast too, ‘else we’ll have nowhere to go tomorrow, will we?”

 

“Well, let’s see,” Elder Reigns replies sarcastically. “How about I _don’t_ do that, and let _you_ deal with the planning, eh? Personally I think that sounds like a great plan.”

 

“Ugh, alright,” Elder Morgan grumbles, slamming his glass down on the table. “Elder Smith, Elder White, what about you two?”

 

“Um, actually,” Bobby says, sitting up slightly and pretending to wipe his mouth so as to make the impression that he actually ate Bullock’s shoddy curry. “Elder White and I were planning on going to Cahors as well.”

 

“Oh, that’s okay. We can change our schedule, right, Elder Bullock?” Elder Misra replies, looking over to his companion for reassurance.

 

“Psh, not a chance,” Elder Bullock counters, scoffing. “They can bloody well change their route if they don’t want us to steal their thunder in the field.”

 

Elder Misra rolls his eyes and, through gritted teeth, growls “It’s not about ’stealing thunder’, it’s about spreading out and reaching more places at once, so if these boys would like to go to Cahors for their first session then we should clear the area, right?”

 

“I’m not a pushover, Elder.” Their conversation drops to angry whispers as Elder Reigns and Elder Morgan exchange very exasperated looks, leaving Bobby and Elder White to simply sit there and wait for some sort of resolution.

 

“Ignore them,” Elder Morgan whispers, leaning over to Bobby’s ear. “This happens quite often. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure they clean up their act a bit tomorrow.”

 

The four silent elders sit patiently as Elder Misra and Elder Bullock have their hushed argument until they both register the silence and look up, noticing the others’ rather expectant looks. They both sit upright again, plastering on forced grins.


	3. The Ginger Bread Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elder White and Elder Smith meet an eccentric bread salesman in a white van and surprisingly don't question it that much.

Bobby adjusts his tie whilst squinting into the dusty old mirror, occasionally pushing back any loose tendrils of hair into place. Elder White is humming tunelessly in the corner, still struggling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Do you think we’ll find a lot of willing challengers, Elder?” Elder White asks, striking up conversation and apparently finally fixing the last button.

Bobby squints into the mirror, checking for any loose ends, before replying

“Why not? We’re the best missionaries around!”

“Ooh, but Elder Reigns says that he and Elder Morgan have already done _five_ baptisms! That’s gotta be a hard one to beat,” Elder White says, nodding pointedly at Bobby, who has momentarily gone into shock.

“ _Five, already?_ …Ahem, never mind that, Elder. We and them are separate entities, what they do doesn’t matter to _us_. We can perform twice— no, _thrice_ as many baptisms as they can.”

“If you say so,” Elder White replies, shrugging and beginning to tie up his own black tie. Bobby turns back to the mirror, scrutinising his own complexion closely. There isn’t much to scrutinise, Bobby thinks, as his skin is moisturised beyond measure and his haircut is just as precise as it was the day before. He smiles at himself pridefully, flashing a wide smile at the mirror and readjusting his collar slightly.

The two young men begin walking down the old rickety stairs and catch a bit of conversation echoing from downstairs.

“I just don’t see why people go in for those other religions,” comes Elder Bullock’s deep, heavily accented voice. “I mean, with Christians you’ve got nutters like the KKK, you got Al Qaeda with the Muslims, and don’t bloody get me started on the cults and their indiscretions.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of good people from all these faiths, but you’re right, there haven’t been that many accounts of similar such organizations in the LDS church,” Elder Morgan’s slightly higher, softer voice responds.

“This is precisely why my parents converted,” Elder Misra pipes up next, just as Bobby and Elder White walk out into the back garden where the other elders are having breakfast. “They don’t believe in all this ‘violence for the greater good’ rubbish, and neither do I.”

As the other elders all give Bobby and Elder White silent nods of acknowledgment, Elder Reigns cuts in as well. “I’m sure there have been *some* arsehole mormons.”

“ _Reigns_ ,” Elder Morgan hisses, gesturing subtly with his head at the two young men still standing on the steps before the patio.

“Mitt Romney, for example,” Elder Bullock says, taking a large gulp of his orange juice.

“How come you guys are still having breakfast? shouldn’t you have gone already?” Bobby asks, frowning around at all of them. All four of the other elders chuckle slightly, shaking their heads.

Elder Bullock fiddles with his puce-coloured tie, still laughing, and says “*As if* there’ll be a soul awake at *this* hour. We’ll probably get chased away by a guard dog if we dare knock on a Frenchman’s door at six-in-the-bloody-morning.”

“Bullock, _please_ don’t call them ‘Frenchmen’, it’s unbelievably insulting,” Elder Morgan groans, sighing exasperatedly like a stressed mother.

“Still, no matter how early it is, you’re meant to have a small breakfast and then head off straight away to begin proselytization,” Bobby intones, still frowning.

“Right, whatever, do you mind grabbing some bread from the bread man for us, seeing as you’re headed outside anyway?” Elder Bullock asks him, taking another sip of his drink.

“The _**what**_?”

“The _Bread Man_ , he’ll be outside now, or at least on his way.”

“Excuse me for asking,” Bobby begins. “But, um, who is ‘The Bread Man’ and what does he do, exactly?”

“The Bread Man sells _bread_ , _obviously_ ,” Elder Bullock drawls, raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes.

Elder White and Bobby exchange thoroughly befuddled looks. “Right…”

“Here, take a few euros,” Elder Bullock says, tossing Bobby some loose change. “And could you get us four croissants, a baguette and…anything else, lads?”

Bobby shakes his head frantically. “Look, I don’t know what you take us for but—“

“Could you see if he’s got any Pain a l’Ail?” Elder Reigns asks.

“Okay, I don’t even know what that is for starters, and—“

“Ooh, and some Beignets,” Elder Morgan adds.

“Aren’t those donuts? Never mind, look, we’re not getting any of th—“

“Could I have a Pain au Chocolat?” Elder Misra asks. Bobby sighs angrily, closing his hand into a fist around the coins.

“Fine,” he mutters through tightly gritted teeth, closing his eyes and swiveling around towards the house again. “Come on, Elder White. Looks like we’re bread waiters now.”

 

***

 

Bobby leads his companion out of the front door, immediately holding up his hand to block the glaring sun from his eyes.

“So, where exactly is this elusive ‘Bread Man’?” Bobby asks nobody in particular, looking around exasperatedly with his hand still shading his eyes.

As if on cue, a loud honk echoes from the distance and within seconds a small white truck comes trundling along on the dirt path, stopping on the vast patch of ground between the mission house and Monsieur Jacques’ gigantic villa (which has an even bigger pool than the Smith’s, as Bobby has made a point to find out).

The man sitting in the driver’s seat, one seemingly of about 30 odd years, peers out of his window and, catching sight of Bobby and Elder White (who wouldn’t be standing around outside unless they wanted something, as he is very aware), hops out of the truck, shooting a stream of French at them and sending the boys into a bit of a panic as they struggle to translate his words so quickly.

“Bonjour! Aimeriez-vous un peu de pain?”

“Errrr,” Elder White stalls, looking blank.

“Uh, Oui, s'il vous plaît!” Bobby replies, smiling proudly at his positively overwhelming linguistic prowess.

The man gives them both an understanding look and nods. “Un instant!”

He gets into the truck again and climbs over the seats into the back. The sound of footsteps against a metal floor echoes from the rear of the truck and Elder White instinctively begins following them. Bobby yanks him back, trying to reinforce the rule of not standing right in front of the back doors of a white van with few windows owned by a man you don’t know — a rule that seems to evade Elder White right at the moment that it is actually relevant.

The back doors open and the Bread Man beckons for the two young men to come around to the back so as to see the bread. The potent smell of fresh French bread is so strong and so tantalising that Bobby can’t help but shiver. There are so many different, powerful smells that he finds it quite difficult (almost impossible) not to sigh in wonder and wistfulness. Bobby feels the pace of his breathing begin to slow, and he takes deeper and deeper breaths with every intake of the beautifully scented air.

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux?” the Bread Man asks, placing both his hands on his hips and somehow not at all fazed by the smell (most likely due to his being constantly surrounded by the almost sinfully delightful aroma). Bobby awakes from his trance, although not completely, and gives the man a dopey, distant smile.

“Oui…uh…Avez-vous des baguettes?”

“Ouais!” the Bread Man chirps, swiftly pulling a fresh baguette out from the tall bread bin on the floor. Bobby takes it, breathing in the scent dreamily.

“This bread smells so _good_ ,” Bobby says to his companion, offering the bread for him to sniff. The Bread Man chuckles, and the two boys look back at him, startled.

“On se dirait en France!” he says teasingly, winking. Bobby furrows his brow, confused, as he translates the phrase. It seems as though the Bread Man has said something like ‘You would think we are in France’, and Bobby, at last understanding, gives a badly-timed laugh. A rather awkward silence ensues, broken at last by the Bread Man piping up

“Que voulez-vous de plus?”

Bobby vaguely remembers the orders that the other elders had made and begins listing them. “Uhhh, Puis-je avoir aussi quatre croissants?”

“Ouais!” the Bread Man replies, placing four glistening croissants into a small brown bag, not dropping a single flake of pastry. He hands the bag down to Bobby, who hands it to Elder White, who stares longingly at the contents, silently threatening to invite himself to tuck in.

“C'est tout?” the Bread Man presses him, placing his hands on his hips once again. Bobby, his confidence in his linguistic abilities waning, quickly replies

“Uh, oui!” He hands the Bread Man the money for the bread and thanks him in English by accident, though the Bread Man doesn’t seem to care. He just tips his little white hat, letting the sun hit his dark hair for the first time. The glint of light bouncing off of it reveals its red colour, and his hair suddenly seems to blaze red as if it were on fire. He then replaces his cap and retreats into the back of the van, closing the doors after him.

Elder White gives Bobby a wide-eyed stare. “Did you _see_ his hair?”

“Yes, it was very nice, but we need to get this bread to the other elders now, quickly. Come on.”

Bobby and Elder White walk back to the house, flinging open the door and setting the two bags down, swatting off the flies angrily.

“Alright, elders, we got the bread,” Bobby calls. “We gotta go now, though. I think you guys should probably plan on going soon too.”

Elder White looks suddenly forlorn. “What about our breakfast?”

“We can get some on the way, right?” Bobby says, leading his companion outside and strapping on his black bike helmet. “We don’t need to eat with those guys.”

“Why not? We’re the ones who got the bread.”

“We can have our _own_ bread in Cahors, Besides, we woke up kinda late today, we don’t really have time to spare.” Bobby hops onto his bike encouraging his companion to do the same.

Elder White straps on his own helmet, climbing onto the bike next to Bobby’s. “But the others aren’t going yet…what if nobody’s around? It’s pretty early, after all, and Elder Bullock said—”

“Now, now, on our bikes we’ll probably get to Cahors by nine-o-clock, and by then there’ll be plenty of people around,” Bobby interjects, putting one foot on the ground to keep him stable. “Come on, we can get there sooner if we leave now and take the short route I marked on the map.”

Elder White asks no more questions, silently getting onto his bike and beginning to pedal along with Bobby. As they set off down the road, they hear what could only be Elder Bullock’s voice shouting in the distance.

“THEY FORGOT THE BLOODY BEIGNETS!”

 

***

 

The streets in Cahors at nine-in-the-morning are completely empty.

Elder White gives his companion an indignant frown. “I told—“

“Don’t,” Bobby says, putting a hand up to silence him.

“Can we get some breakfast now?”

“Not right now.”

“But there’s nobody around!” Elder White moans, staring wistfully at a nearby patisserie, its lights all off and the doors locked. He keeps this look for a moment before glancing back at Bobby, who returns the glance with an enormously exasperated expression. At first, the other boy is confused, but upon looking back at the abandoned patisserie he bares a look of sudden understanding, and quickly wipes all expression from his face.

“Look, we’ll just wait around for a few minutes and catch the first wave of people who arrive,” Bobby says, pulling out his Book of Mormon and standing up straight, holding his head up high and puffing out his chest confidently. “Look sharp, Elder.”

Elder White imitates his companion’s posture but continues to bear a rather forlorn and longing expression, glancing back at the closed up Patisserie every five seconds.


	4. Elder Morgan Learns a New Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Bread Man makes a grand entrance into the elder's lives.

Around ten minutes later, the first person of the day arrives in the square.

 

“Elder White, look! Oh, gosh darn it, quit staring at the bakery, _look_!”

 

Bobby yanks his companion along with him as he approaches the man who has just entered the square. The man has shiny, slicked-back hair and is wielding a heavy-looking briefcase, swinging it menacingly back and forth in time with his own quickening steps.

 

“Monsieur! Uh, Monsieur!” Bobby calls, attempting to flag the man down. The man swats at him, shouting angrily.

 

“Casse toi! _Casse_ toi!”

 

He is clearly busy.

 

Elder White pats Bobby on the back gently, putting on a reassuring tone. “Don’t worry, Elder, he’s only one guy. We’ll get a willing challenger in no time. We didn’t train so hard for so long for nothin’!”

 

Although Bobby generally dismisses Elder White’s attempts to lighten the mood, preferring to take most things very seriously and professionally (even at age 5, Bobby insisted on taking into account the price, calorie content and estimated product value of his apple juice whenever he got to go to the store with his mother), this most recent remark did something to spark his enthusiasm once again.

 

“You’re right, Elder White. We can’t let our first attempt get us down. We’ve just gotta seize the day and…stuff,” he replies, preparing his best salesperson grin again. Elder White looks rather stunned that his usually unsuccessful pep talk actually worked for once, and he gives a vaguely surprised smile before following Bobby back to the middle of the square.

 

Five minutes pass without a person in sight appearing until finally the click-clack of probably very expensive high heels echo through the silence as a young woman emerges from behind one of the buildings.

 

Bobby’s eyes light up and he grasps his copy of the Book of Mormon even tighter in excitement. “Alright, Elder, it’s go time. Follow my lead.”

 

The woman, who appears to be speaking to somebody on the phone, looks flustered and irate, sighing exasperatedly and ‘Hmph!’-ing a lot. “Mais Oui! il apporte de l'argent pour vous demain.”

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t disturb her…” Elder White says, retreating. Just as he does this, the woman angrily clicks her phone off and shoves it into her pocket, scowling. She stands completely still, looking lost and upset. Perfect.

 

“Bonjour, mademoiselle!” Bobby calls, running over to her cheerily. She whips around to look at him and, fortunately, seems pleased to see a happy face.

 

“Hahaha, je suis Madame,” she giggles, holding out her hand and displaying a handsome wedding ring.

 

“Pardon,” Bobby replies, grinning. The woman laughs even harder, adjusting her glasses.

 

“Are you English?” she asks, still laughing. Bobby feels suddenly embarrassed again. Was his accent that bad that it was obvious that he was American? Or…no, it’s definitely not his mannerisms. That would be crazy.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Do you speak English?”

 

She begins another bout of laughter. “I would hope so, I teach it!” 

 

“Oh,” Bobby replies simply. He momentarily forgets his initial plan, feeling oddly naive again. Elder White appears back by his side at this point, staring at the woman in intrigue.

 

“Hello ma’am,” Elder White says, giving her a tiny wave.

 

“Hello,” she greets him in return, smiling gently before turning to look at Bobby again. “What were you saying?”

 

“Oh, yeah, um, I’m Elder Smith from the Church of Latter Day Saints,” Bobby begins. He bows slightly as a sign of introduction and gestures to Elder White. “And this is my companion.”

 

“I’m Elder White. I’m from the Church of Latter Day Saints too — just in case you were confused!” he cuts in, grinning. Bobby glances back at his companion, flashing the utmost of contemptuous and sarcastic smiles before turning back to the woman.

 

“Yeah, um, so—“

 

“Ah, you are Mormons, right?” she cuts in, a look of realization breaking over her face. “Like the two young men who I met the other day?”

 

Bobby’s eyes widen in surprise. “Well, uh, yeah, we’re Mormons, alright!” he says, grinning.

 

“Yes, yes, they had the same uniforms as you. They were two very nice men; one was very loud, but he was very funny, the other was very quiet and he gave me a blue book,” she reminisces, looking up and to her left for a moment as she recalls the meeting.

 

“Oh, really? So you’re interested in the Church?” Bobby asks eagerly, giving his companion an excited sideways glance.

 

“I suppose that you could say that it is interesting, yes,” the woman replies.

 

Bobby feels excitement filling up inside him as he presses on with the questions. “So you’d want to learn more about the Church?”

 

“— Of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints,” Elder White adds, grinning.

 

“That’s enough, Elder White,” Bobby growls. Elder White retains his smile but gives his companion the slightest of side glances.

 

“I’m just trying to embellish the product, Elder Smith,” he replies through his teeth, still grinning.

 

The woman gives an uncertain laugh. “Uh, yes, well, I would definitely like to learn more about it. If I give you my phone number, you can contact me later today. I have some business to sort out this morning.”

 

“Are we allowed to get girls’ numbers while on our mission?” Elder White whispers.

 

“Well, it’s not for personal use, is it? It’s just so we can teach this nice lady more about the church,” Bobby replies.

 

They take the woman’s number, writing it down on a piece of notebook paper.

 

“My name is Pauline,” the woman says as Bobby carefully places the paper in his pocket. “If somebody else answers the phone, just tell them to pass on your message to me. See you later!”

 

Pauline waves to them both before running off down one of the streets, somehow staying upright even when running in her heels.

 

Bobby and Elder White exchange a look of awe and surprise.

 

As if rehearsed many times, they both mutter in unison: “Success!”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby and Elder White stride into the living quarters again proudly, grinning smugly.

 

“Well, Elder White,” Bobby says loudly, pausing for dramatic effect. “That sure was a very eventful day.”

 

“How many’d you catch then?” Elder Bullock asks from a handsome arm chair, uncrossing his legs.

 

“Three willing participants,” Bobby replies pridefully. “We’re going to plan some meetings right after dinner.”

 

“PFFFFT,” Elder Bullock splutters, picking up his drink and taking a sip, looking suspiciously amused. “Oh, wow, _three_ , absolutely astounding.”

 

“Hah! Like you do much better, mate,” Elder Reigns cuts in, appearing from seemingly nowhere. The other elders have this magical power of materializing into rooms in order to make witty remarks when the moment calls for it.

 

Elder Bullock scowls at him. “Fuck off.”

 

“You fuck off,” Elder Reigns retorts.

 

“Not likely, I’m perfectly happy where I am,” Elder Bullock snaps, crossing his legs again and taking another sip of his drink before picking The Book of Mormon up and opening it to a bookmarked page.

 

Elder Morgan practices the same materialization trick as well and pops up just behind Bobby, scaring him practically out of his socks.

 

“Reigns, we’re on dinner duty tonight.” He puts a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “Good day today?”

 

“Uh, yeah…I think so, anyway,” Bobby replies, giving Elder Bullock an uncertain glare.

 

“Great,” Elder Morgan replies, pushing past Bobby and Elder White and going into the kitchen with his companion. The atmosphere doesn’t feel quite as hostile as the day before, but a sense of tension between Bobby and the others still remains somewhat.

 

He and Elder White make their way up to their room, dropping their bags down by the door.

 

“Well,” Elder White begins, sitting down on his bed. “When will these meetings be?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bobby says, checking the state of his hair in the mirror. “Hopefully tomorrow. I’m psyched.”

 

“Same,” Elder White agrees, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “This is gonna be great!”

 

“Yeah,” Bobby replies, standing up to his full height now, staring at his reflection in the mirror admiringly. “We’re gonna be the best gosh darn elders we can be. We’re gonna be amazing.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby lies in his bed as the country stars shine in through the gaps in the window volleys, showering him and his companion (who is close by, snoring under his own covers) with tiny specks of bright white light. He stares up at the ceiling, too hot to fall asleep and too irrationally scared of the dark to hang just one foot over the side of his bed for coolness. Everything is serenely quiet, and his breathing is slow and steady, matching his companion's.

 

Until the volleys begin to open.

 

Bobby freezes, a lump forming in mere seconds in his throat. He feels his whole body become paralyzed with fear as starlight fills the whole room and a leg swings through the window and onto the hardwood floor. The owner of this mysterious leg comes stumbling in after it, a black silhouette sprawled on the floor. It stands up, allowing the light to catch its head.

 

The starlight falls upon a mop of bright, shiny ginger hair.

 

Bobby fights the urge to scream, and he feels a shot of adrenaline course through his body, but nothing happens. The figure stands stock still before turning to look at Bobby.

 

“Oh, merde. Merde, merde, merde, merde…”

 

“M-meered?” Bobby stutters, shaking. _What does ‘Meered’ mean?_

 

“Merde! Fais chier!” the figure exclaims, scrambling for something. Once it seems to get a hold of what it was looking for, it stands up straight, revealing its face.

 

Bobby gasps.

 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says, giving Bobby an apologetic look. “Please, please, I may explain?”

 

“I-I-“

 

“My friend, please,” he pleads, shutting the volleys. “I am not dangerous.”

 

“What are you doing in my room?” Bobby asks, his voice coming out as an almost-squeak. The Bread Man was not the first person he expected to be climbing in his window at midnight.

 

“Please, I stay just for the night?” the Bread Man continues to plead. “I am being chased.”

 

“You’re being chased?” Bobby asks, sitting up suddenly. “Why?”

 

“I am in danger, I need to hide.”

 

“I — why did you —“

 

“ _Please_ , my friend,” the Bread Man asks again, clasping his hands together in desperation. Bobby goes silent for a second, trying to process the situation.

 

“I…yeah, yeah, of course. Just, uh, hide in the wardrobe, It’s gonna be okay,” he replies at last, gesturing to the oak wardrobe.

 

“Ah, merci beaucoup, avale mes couilles grosse pute,” the Bread Man replies, clasping his hands together again in thanks and retreating into the wardrobe. “I owe you so much.”

 

Bobby, slightly groggy from being woken from his half-asleep state, nods dopily and lies back down, a whole heap of new worries swarming around in his mind. _It’s not like it’s the first time there’s been a man hiding in my cupboard while I sleep._

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby is awoken the next morning by Elder White’s scream of terror.

 

“ELDER SMITH, THERE’S A STRANGE MAN IN OUR CUPBOARD,” he shrieks, whacking Bobby on the arm.

 

“So there is,” Bobby says.

 

“Hello, I am Julian,” the Bread Man introduces himself, smiling at the two of them as he stands in the middle of the room, partially dressed.

 

“Tha’s Julian,” Bobby says to his companion simply, grimacing and lying back down to sleep. Elder White grabs him by the collar and pulls him back up again.

 

“WHY IS THERE A STRANGE MAN IN OUR CUPBOARD?” he shouts.

 

“Well…why not?” Bobby replies sleepily, about to lie back down again when Julian cuts into the conversation again.

 

“It is okay, I am just hiding out for a little bit. Do not mind me,” he says, apparently forsaking contractions.

 

Bobby gives his companion a ‘there, that settles it’ look and lies back down once again. Suddenly, the door to their bedroom bursts open and Elder Bullock comes bolting in, wielding one of those electric fly swatters. He catches sight of Julian, standing in the middle of the room with only a t-shirt and his underwear on, and holds his fighting stance for a second, still brandishing the swatter.

 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, a laugh escaping his lips as he stands up straight again and drops his arm (and the swatter — it doesn’t stay suspended in the air while his arm flops to his side, that would just be weird) down again. “Hey, Mis, come look at this.”

 

Elder Misra walks timidly into the room, jumping back in surprise as he sees Julian in his current state for the first time.

 

“Oh, wow, okay,” he says, turning around and walking out again.

 

“What’s he doing in here then?” Elder Bullock asks, gesturing to Julian with the fly swatter.

 

Elder White has his blanket yanked up to his chin, even though he is perfectly modest anyway. “I DON’T KNOW. HE FELL OUT OF THE CUPBOARD.”

 

Elder Bullock chuckles. “Did he now? How’s Narnia, mate?”

 

“Uh…?” Julian replies, smiling unsurely.

 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Bobby puts in, waving his hand dismissively, still half-asleep. “He just needs to hide for a lil’ bit.”

 

“Well, Jules, I wasn’t expecting you to come in here today but I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around for the morning,” Elder Bullock says, reaching out and patting Julian on the shoulder. “Did you bring us those missing beignets?”

 

“Shouldn’t you ask the district leader first?” Elder White asks bitterly, glaring at Julian disapprovingly.

 

Elder Bullock chuckles again. “Good point.” He leans out of the doorway and calls to somebody out of sight. “Hey, Mis — it alright if Jules hangs around for a bit?”

 

Bobby sits up abruptly, miraculously wide awake now.

 

“Yeah,” Elder Misra calls back from downstairs. The sound of china clinking against china follows his voice, and it can be assumed that he is making breakfast now.

 

“Wait, what?” Bobby asks incredulously. “You mean _Elder Morgan_ isn’t the district leader?”

 

“Fuck no,” Elder Bullock splutters, laughing a little too hard at this harmless misconception. “Can you imagine? This place would be a right bore if he were in charge. Did you hear that, Elder Misra?”

 

“Mhmm,” comes his companion’s voice again.

 

“But…but he’s way more…y’know…”

 

“Polite? Responsible? _Prissy_?” Elder Bullock asks mockingly. “Nah, he puts that shit on massively. You’ve only been here a day, mate. Don’t go making assumptions about Elder Morgan now. You’ll be very disappointed.”

 

“Right…” Bobby replies, the absurdity of the entire situation finally hitting him. “Why is there a half-naked man in our room?”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“No. No way.”

 

Elder Bullock paces back and forth again. “Come _on_ , Morgan. He’s a lad.”

 

Elder Morgan continues to frown. “He’s a criminal.”

 

“Oh, would you stop using that bloody word?” Elder Bullock snaps. “He hasn’t offed anybody, now has he?”

 

“Are you trying to imply that, because he isn’t as bad as a murderer, he should be forgiven for _stealing_?” Elder Morgan asks, a tone of utter exasperation and disbelief in his voice. “You really are a fool, Bullock.”

 

“Don’t you call me a fool,” Elder Bullock snaps, scowling at the other elder.

 

“We are _Mormons_ ,” Morgan retorts. “This is against our morals. We can’t give refuge to a thief.”

 

“That is completely backwards,” Bullock shoots back, stomping back and forth some more. “It is _because_ we are Mormons that we *have* to give refuge to him.”

 

After Elder Bullock had told Julian he could stay, Julian had explained his situation to them. As it turns out, he had been trying to escape from the police the previous night, and had seen their mission house as the closest form of refuge.

 

Whilst Elder Bullock and Elder Morgan argue about the morality of the Church, Bobby, his companion and Elder Misra stare transfixed at Julian as he sits hunched over a bowl of cereal, eating it silently as the row going on behind them unfolds.

 

“Did you know him well before now?” Elder White asks Elder Misra, having to speak up a bit to be heard over the shouting. “Your companion was calling him ‘Jules’.”

 

“Huh? Oh, yes,” Elder Misra replies. “We get bread from him twice a week. He came over for dinner sometimes. Never for breakfast, though. And always fully-clothed.”

 

“Ah, good,” Elder White says, looking back at Julian as he continues to spoon cornflakes into his mouth.

 

“So, you’re district leader, huh?” Bobby asks, marginally skeptical. “How come you aren’t fighting with Elder Morgan about this situation?”

 

“I am not the fighting type,” Elder Misra replies, shrugging. “Especially not with Elder Morgan. He scares me sometimes. Sometimes more than even Elder Bullock.”

 

“Scares you, huh?” Bobby asks, raising an eyebrow. “How come?”

 

Elder Misra shrugs. “Very loud.”

 

Just as he says this, an especially deafening shout echoes from behind them, and they all turn around to see what’s going on.

 

Elder Bullock is pointing an angrily shaking finger at the other man, scowling. “FUCK YOU AND YOUR JOSEPH SMITHS.”

 

“FUCK _YOU_ ” Elder Morgan barks back. Everyone grows still, staring at Elder Morgan in awe. Elder Morgan seems to be rather surprised at himself too. He clenches his right hand into a fist, looking upset and angry. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Fuck_.”

 

He looks over at Elder Bullock in disbelief, then at Elder Misra, then Bobby and finally at Elder White, still looking totally incredulous.

 

Elder Reigns walks in at this point, appearing very confused at the silence.

 

“Did I miss something?” he asks. Elder Morgan looks up at him, a crazed expression of glee appearing on his face.

 

“ **Fuck**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Morgan finally said fuck and all is good


	5. That's Not a Welsh Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elder Smith and Elder White meet their first clients and have a gay old time.

After a hearty breakfast of unbuttered stale bread, Bobby and Elder White hop on their bikes and zoom off down a different road than the day before.

 

“What’d she say again? Turn left at where?” Elder White asks, his breathing faster as he gains speed on the bike.

 

Bobby sighs, pulling out a small piece of notebook paper with a number on it — and now, an address. “She said turn _right_ when we see Toulouse, keep going ’til we see directions for Auch, then her house is number 26 on Chemin de Bégué.”

 

Elder White puffs his cheeks out momentarily, slowly letting out air in a ‘Wowie’ sort of way. “Gee, France sure has some weird names for things.”

 

Bobby gives his companion a mixed expression of both incredulity and contempt before tucking the piece of paper away again and putting his right hand back on the handle.

 

Around an hour of cycling and a whole lot of complaining courtesy of Elder White later, they come to a halt outside a quaint little bungalow, surrounded by a white fence and with the number ’26’ on a small plaque on the visible side of a white brick pillar (which is supporting the painted magnolia gate). Sandwiched between the fence and the pillar is a cream mailbox, nicely polished and devoid of rust. The house itself is adorned with pretty red maple leaves, giving it the impression of a sickeningly girlish dollhouse. Despite this, it is certainly not an ugly house. The outside walls are a similar marble-white to the fence and the roof is a light shade of clay. On the windowsill between two open volleys, there are three nice little flower pots, two of which are perfectly identical. On the more elevated of the two separate roofs (one for the house, the other for the attached garage), there is a thin metal chimney that isn’t producing any smoke yet, most likely because it’s too hot outside for any indoor fires.

 

Bobby isn’t sure whether to open the gate and walk up to the door or call out to see if anybody is home. He ultimately chooses the former and pushes open the little gate, leading his companion into the front garden and up to the mullioned door, knocking on it briskly.

 

“Um, Pauline?” he asks the door, waiting for an answer. The sound of footsteps grows louder until they reach the door and somebody inside opens it.

 

“Ah! It is the Mormons!” Pauline exclaims, appearing at the threshold and grinning. “You are late!”

 

“Oh…yeah…hehe…” Bobby replies furtively, glancing down at his watch hand and seeing the time, and somehow the mere sight of the numbers makes his eyes water.

 

“Please, come inside, I have some tea for you,” she says, leading them into the hall.

 

Elder White leans over to Bobby cautiously, whispering: “Does she know…?”

 

“Probably not, just don’t mention it,” Bobby hisses back, keeping a smile plastered on his face when Pauline looks back at them as she walks down the hallway ahead.

 

Elder White and Bobby are lead into the living room and a voice echoing from the kitchen piques their interest.

 

“Who is it?” the voice asks. Another woman pops her head out from the kitchen doorway and peeks into the room, looking around to see who has arrived. She then walks completely into the living room, peering over at Bobby and his companion.

 

The other woman looks strikingly similar to Pauline. Short, dark brown hair, hazel eyes and pale skin. She wears a loose-fitting blouse and a red and white striped apron.

 

“Nous sommes gais, assis sur mes genoux,” Pauline says, patting the seat next to her, assumedly asking for the woman to sit down.

 

“Hi there!” Bobby and Elder White greet her in perfect unison as she sits down.

 

Pauline gives the other woman a reassuring smile. “These are the, uhhh, Elders, is it?”

 

“Yeah, Elder Smith and Elder White,” Bobby replies, grinning at her excitedly.

 

“This is my wife, Gen,” Pauline says, gesturing to the other woman.

 

“Ah, hello, Mywifejen, nice to meet you!” Bobby chirps, reaching out to shake the other woman’s hand. “Nice name. Is she your sister?”

 

Pauline laughs almost hysterically, lightly hitting the other woman’s arm in a playful manner. “Ahaha! You are very funny.”

 

Bobby looks confused. “Um…?”

 

“Ah, well,” Pauline says, giving Bobby a rather uncertain look. “No, she is my wife…Genevieve…?”

 

Bobby continues to smile stiffly at her.

 

“Uh huh,” he replies, his face barely moving.

 

“Is something wrong?” Genevieve asks, bearing a very wary expression.

 

“Can we have a moment?” Bobby asks, gesturing to Elder White. “We’ll be just a second.”

 

“Uh, okay…” Pauline replies, smiling very unsurely now. Bobby, still grinning forcefully, grabs Elder White’s arm and leads him outside.

 

Once outside, Bobby shuts the door and still doesn’t drop his frozen grin. He doesn’t say a word and simply continues to give Elder White that same forced grin.

 

“Um…well, I wasn’t expecting that,” Elder White says, looking rather indignant.

 

“No. Neither was I,” Bobby replies through gritted teeth, his mouth smiling but the rest of his face showing flecks of pure, unadulterated agitation.

 

“Well, um, we can still make this work, right?” Elder White says, optimism flaring in his eyes once again. “I mean, sure, they may be…uh…married…and everything, but, hey! If they can get gay married they can always get gay divorced!”

 

“Gay divorced?” Bobby asks his companion in a thoroughly exasperated tone. He sighs, shaking his head, and then curls his hand into a fist. “It’s alright, we’re gonna do this, and we’re just gonna ignore this little…indiscretion and do what we’re meant to be doing right now; saving the souls of the French citizens. Let’s just regain our composure, get back in there and do our best, okay?”

 

Elder White forms a wide grin at this. “Okay!”

 

“We’re gonna get in there and convert us some gays!” Bobby continues, pumping his fist in the air. Elder White copies him, his smile widening as his companion delivers his pep talk, replying

 

“Yeah! _Missionary_ style!”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

About an hour later, Bobby and Elder White find themselves in a cafe in Cahors, after Elder White insisted that they eat out for lunch so that they won’t have to ‘socialize with that strange man’.

 

So, instead of feasting on morsels of day-old French bread and fly-friendly salami at the mission house, they sit in L’Interlude Cafe, arguing about, what else, but Mormon doctrine.

 

“Now, listen up,” Bobby says, picking the bottle of Orangina up and placing it down firmly again, treating it like a piece of evidence in a murder case — that is, with an air of heightened importance. “Joseph Smith received a revelation from Heavenly Father forbidding us Mormons from drinking h _ot beverages_ , m’kay?”

 

“Right,” Elder White replies, looking intently at the juice drink. Bobby continues;

 

“Over the years, people have just assumed He meant tea and coffee — ‘cause, y’know, nobody wants to have a diet without hot chocolate, right?”

 

Elder White nods, still staring at the Orangina seriously. “Yeah, I’m following.”

 

“Alright, well, then a couple generations along we were like: ‘Hey, what do these two drinks have in common?’ and the answer was caffeine, so that whole myth about caffeine being forbidden came from that. But Heavenly Father doesn’t _really_ object to caffeine, it was just human error.”

 

“Right,” Elder White replies, nodding again. “So…can we drink Orangina or not?”

 

Bobby sighs exasperatedly, setting the Orangina aside. “I’ll just get you some water.”

 

Once they have their drinks and a plate of Bugnes, the conversation shifts to something a bit deeper than the morality of drinking soft drinks.

 

“How long do you think Jules is gonna be staying with us?” Elder White asks, leaning in and whispering as if worried somebody will hear and scrutinize him.

 

“I don’t know,” Bobby replies, picking up a Bugne.

 

Elder White frowns at his companion, furrowing his brow disapprovingly. “Why’d you even let him hide out here? You really should have just called the police…” 

 

“I didn’t know he was a _thief_ , though,” Bobby explains. “If I’d known his bag had 1000 euros packed in his bag I wouldn’t have given him a chance to get out of the window.”

 

“You mean you woulda…beat him up?” Elder White asks furtively.

 

“No, no, of course not. I mean, I totally could have. I can lift 20 pounds, y’know.” Bobby picks up another Bugne and begins waving it around as he speaks. “I mean I’d like, shut the volleys and call the police. I have a penknife in the bedside drawer too, so I guess I could always just threaten him with a pair of miniature scissors.”

 

“…20 pounds? Woah,” Elder White replies, his eyes widening. “I can only lift 17…”

 

Bobby wipes the excess sugar from his mouth and continues. “But listen, I know that Julian’s a fugitive and everything, but I think we should help him out. I mean, why not, right? He’s a…what did Elder Bullock say yesterday?”

 

Elder White looks up to his right, trying to remember. “I think he called ‘lassie’…?”

 

“Whatever. He’s cool, right?” Bobby says, taking his third Bugne. “It could be cool. Funtimes.”

 

“Yeah,” Elder White says, softening up now. “Yeah, he might not be so bad.”

 

Bobby nods, wiping his mouth again.“We can’t just send him away. It’s our job as Heavenly Father’s stewards to the earth to protect all those who seek our hospitality.”

 

“Yeah,” Elder White says, grinning now. “Yeah, you’re right. About the Stewarts and the hospitals.”

 

“You know who we should really look out for, though?” Bobby starts, leaning in too now.

 

“Who?” Elder White gasps, looking interested. Bobby looks around furtively just like his companion did a couple of minutes ago, as if suspicious of eavesdropping customers.

 

“Elder Misra.”

 

“Really?” Elder White cocks his head to the side, confused. “Why?”

 

“I just… he makes me feel uneasy.”

 

“Oh…how come?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bobby says, looking away and out of the nearby window at the busy streets of Cahors. “I just don’t like him.”

 

“Weird…” Elder White replies, looking out of the window as well. “He seems nice, though.”

 

Bobby squints his eyes skeptically, still looking out of the window. He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t buy it.”

 

“Buy what?”

 

“ _Him_.”

 

Elder White looks thoroughly confused and he begins eating a Bugne, munching it pensively.

 

Bobby continues to watch the outside, squinting dramatically at nothing in particular.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby and his companion return to the living quarters later than usual, having visited their other two clients that afternoon and gone slightly overtime with the last one.

 

The other elders, save for Bullock, are all in the living room, reading. Elder Morgan is reading a church magazine, but he seems rather apathetic about it, fiddling with a pen in his right hand.

 

Bobby is about to greet them when a voice, evidently Elder Bullock’s, comes from the entrance of the old wine cellar.

 

“Eyyy,” he exclaims, emerging from the cellar with Julian following behind him, dressed in a green jumpsuit and a fake mustache, his hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Check it out!”

 

The others all look up at the pair, gazing at them rather skeptically.

 

“What?” Reigns asks exasperatedly, dropping his book onto his lap.

 

“Meet Jose, our gardener,” Elder Bullock announces, gesturing dramatically at Julian.

 

Elder Morgan looks Julian up and down extremely apprehensively, ultimately just saying simply “No.”

 

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Bullock pleads. “It’s brilliant!”

 

“It’s racist,” Elder Morgan retorts, sneering at the costume. Julian stays silent, picking at his nails.

 

“Hey! Quiet, you,” Bullock snaps, pointing at Elder Morgan. “What about you, Mis? It’s the perfect disguise, right?”

 

Elder Misra looks over at them, grimacing slightly. “Well…I mean, Elder Morgan does have a point. It could be seen as insensitive by…well, anybody with a conscience.”

 

Misra catches sight of Bobby and Elder White in the doorway looking thoroughly confused and raises his eyebrows with a slight eye roll in a sort of ‘he’s at it again’ way. Bobby squints down at him in badly hidden contempt.

 

“Oi, you two,” Elder Bullock says, pointing at Bobby and Elder White in the doorway. “What do you guys think?”

 

Bobby whips his head up, his attention shifting suddenly. “Huh? Oh,” he says. He looks back at Misra, who glances over at them expectantly. Bobby stares back intently and replies “I think it’s a great disguise. Very clever.”

 

“Yeah, see?” Elder Bullock insists, gesturing to him and his companion.

 

Elder Morgan rolls his eyes exasperatedly, putting his magazine down. “Well, I mean, that hardly counts. They’re American, of course they think this—“, he gestures to Julian, “— is acceptable”

 

“Oi! You bloody hypocrite!” Elder Bullock snaps, stomping over to Elder Morgan.

 

“Oh, goodness, not again,” Elder Misra sighs, face-palming. “Jules— *Julian*, go get dressed back into your normal clothes while I calm the boys down.”

 

Bobby and Elder White exchange an equally exasperated look and begin making their way upstairs, catching morsels of the developing argument.

 

“In this day and age, I should be allowed to dress up another man in green onesies and fake mustaches if I so wish to!”

 

“NOT IN MY HOUSE.”

 

“Elder Morgan, this isn’t your house.”

 

“WHO ASKED YOU?”

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby pulls the blanket over him and turns around in his bed, closing his eyes as he sets his head on the pillow. He’s actually rather optimistic about getting a full night’s sleep for once when a small voice comes from behind him.

 

“Do you ever miss home?”

 

“Elder White, we’ve been here for three days. Isn’t it a little early to be missing Mommy?”

 

“Elder Smith,” Elder White whines. Bobby turns around angrily to face his companion.

 

“Listen, I’m super tired. I don’t wanna talk right now,” he replies, grimacing. Elder White frowns.

 

“I just miss Utah.”

 

“ _Too frickin’ bad_ , bud. That’s life. Go to sleep.”

 

“Gee, there’s no need to be mean.” Elder White sits up, crossing his arms indignantly. Bobby sits up as well, running his fingers through his hair.

 

“I know, I know. I think the others are rubbing off on me,” Bobby admits, rubbing his temples now.

 

“It’s alright,” Elder White replies, smiling now. “It’s totally understandable.”

 

“Yeah, they’re an impressionable bunch.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry for waking you,” Elder White apologizes, slipping back under his covers again.

 

“Nah, nah, it’s fine,” Bobby reassures him, lying down. “Hey, you’re my companion. You can talk to me about anything.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Elder White says, rolling over now. “Cool.”

 

It takes a while, but at last they both go to sleep.


	6. Late Night Chats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elder Smith considers a career in eavesdropping

Bobby wakes up in a hot sweat, despite the whole room feeling deathly cold. He climbs out of bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead and resisting the urge to groan.

 

“Once again, Elder Smith gets no sleep,” he mutters to himself. Elder White is still asleep on the bed next to Bobby’s, and it occurs to him that it’s probably midnight by now.

 

He mentally groans once again and stands up, quietly tip-toeing out of the room. He’s just debating whether he should get some water or just go and splash some water on his face in the bathroom when he hears hushed whispering from downstairs.

 

Bobby creeps tenuously to the head of the staircase, trying to understand the mutterings.

 

“— Pushed to the side, forgotten. While those two get all the attention.”

 

“I don’t think that’s the case. They usually try to include us when they can.”

 

“They don’t make that much of an effort, though.”

 

Bobby can’t distinguish the voices that well from his position, and he risks a couple of steps down the stairs. For once, they don’t creak.

 

“Elder Bullock doesn’t even treat Jules right. Morgan _pretends_ to be totally unbiased but we all know he’s equally as insensitive,” the first voice says. Bobby puts two and two together, taking into account the accent, and decides this must be Elder Reigns.

 

“That’s not true,” the other voice responds. “I mean, maybe Elder Morgan can be pompous at times but—“

 

The other voice becomes suddenly louder. “At times? You don’t share a room with him, mate. He’s an utter prick.”

 

“Please don’t speak about your mission partner like that,” the other voice says, hushing Reigns’s. Evidently, this voice belongs to Elder Misra.

 

“Listen,” Reigns says, his voice even more hushed now, causing Bobby to have to creep down another two stairs. “You, me and Jules are all second-rate to the others, and as for those rednecks—“

 

“ _Elder Reigns_ , really,” Elder Misra hisses.

 

“What? You know they don’t respect you. Or Jules -- or _me_.”

 

“Well, we’ve only known them a few days, I’m sure they’re just stressed.”

 

All that Bobby hears in response is an exasperated sigh, most likely from Elder Reigns.

 

“What are you getting at, anyway?” Elder Misra asks, his voice still just above a whisper.

 

“I’ve been planning this for a while, and with Jules on the run from the cops, I realized it’s time for action.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Elder Reigns can be heard taking a deep, dramatic breath.

 

“You, me, Jules and a car. France road trip,” he says, excitement building in his voice. “It’s about time we ditched this place. No dietary plans. No guidelines. Just some lads being boys, driving round one of the greatest European countries we know of. It’ll be a laugh.”

 

“…What?”

 

“I realized this a few weeks ago when I was with a client. I was reading a passage from The Book and they just got really annoyed and asked me ‘What’s the point of all of this?’. Then I thought ‘…yeah, what _is_ the point?’. I’ve been doing this whole ‘righteous mormon fellow’ thing my whole life because my parents wanted me to. Now I’m sick of it. I’m a twenty year old, for goodness sakes, I don’t want to be wasting my life doing this when I could be honoring Heavenly Father in a multitude of much better ways. Like giving to charity!”

 

Elder Reigns pauses, evidently waiting for a response.

 

“C-come on, Mis. Jules isn’t doing any good staying here. The coppers will be on his tail, and we’ll get a church discipline on the spot for keeping a fugitive in our house. We could even be arrested.”

 

“I know,” Elder Misra replies, sighing.

 

“Missionary work seemed so cool back in sixth form, back when wedidn’t know how shitty adulthood is.”

 

Silence.

 

“You don’t have to carry on being ignored and just getting on with life. You got a free ticket to France. We can go anywhere we want, as long as we’ve got the nerve.”

 

More silence.

 

“Listen — we need to do this for Jules. We need to get him away from Midi-pyrenees. We’ll drive up into Île-de-France, we could go to Paris — bloody _Paris_ , Mis. We could easily do this. We just need to acquire the supplies.”

 

_More_ silence.

 

Bobby risks another step and, this time, it creeks. Loudly. He jumps back, trying to be as quiet as he can, but neither of the two young men downstairs seem to pay it any mind.

 

“Why do you want to do this?” Elder Misra asks, his tone that of exasperated confusion rather than actual interest.

 

“We’ve both— we’ve all — you, me and Julian, that is — known what it’s like to have your sense of adventure challenged,” Reigns replies, his voice rising slightly. “None of us want to hang around in this grotty old house in the middle of the French countryside. In any case, we *need* to get Julian out of here before the cops catch up with him. If you’re really concerned about the others, you’d help me help Julian leg it out of town before they show up and arrest all of us.”

 

Bobby moves from his position slightly to peek out through the bannister supports. He still can’t see Reigns or Misra, and they seem to be situated in the kitchen rather than the living room as he had previously thought.

 

“Please, Mis,” Elder Reigns persists. “It’ll be a laugh.”

 

And then comes a silence different to that of the ones before. The previous silences had been expectant silences, the sound of one person holding their breath as they wait for the other’s reply and the other’s unresponsiveness somehow made audible by the lack of other sound. This silence is different, a more mutual silence. Rather than one person waiting for a response, there is an evident finality to the silence, as if no reply is expected.

 

Bobby leans further out through the gap in the supports but still sees nothing in the dimly-lit downstairs. He just begins to retreat from his position when Misra’s voice, no longer a whisper, tears through the silence.

 

“This mission may all be a laugh for you, Elder Reigns, but I like to take my work seriously. I chose to serve my holy mission in order to honour Heavenly Father, not to joke around and have midnight discussions about touring France with a wanted criminal and his friend. Nighty night, now, Elder.”

 

Bobby hears footsteps approaching the staircase and he scrambles back upstairs as quietly as he can, darting into the bathroom.

 

Elder Misra appears at the top of the staircase, slightly disheveled and looking rather irate. Bobby quickly fills a glass with water and nonchalantly walks out onto the landing.

 

“Good evening, Elder Misra,” Bobby greets him, sniffing imperiously.

 

Elder Misra jumps back slightly in surprise. “Oh, evening, Elder Smith. Why are you up so late?”

 

Bobby nods his head towards his glass of water and raises an eyebrow at Misra. “I could ask you the same thing.”

 

“Right,” Elder Misra replies, looking down at the floor thoughtfully. “Well, good night.”

 

“Nighty night,” Bobby says quietly, smirking even more as he sees Elder Misra’s eyes widen in shock for a second before he appears to shake it off, walk back over to his room and slip inside.

 

Bobby takes a highly amused sip of his water and returns to his own bedroom, excited to relay this story to his companion in the morning.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby wakes up the next morning abnormally early and rife with excitement. He shakes his companion awake, earning a thoroughly disgruntled growl from him, and hastily pulls his clothes on, fumbling with his tie more than usual due to his haste.

 

“Gee, somebody’s sure raring to go,” Elder White remarks amusedly.

 

Bobby ignores the comment, quickly combing his hair into place and checking his chin for any fuzz. Nothing noticeable. In any case, he doesn’t have time to shave right now.

 

“Quick, Elder White, we might be able to get downstairs before everyone else if we’re fast.”

 

“Why are we trying to get downstairs first?” Elder White asks, looking puzzled. He gasps. “Is there a prize?!”

 

Bobby finishes tying his right shoe’s shoelaces and grabs Elder White by the arm, yanking him along behind him and leading him downstairs.

 

“Quick, make some breakfast, I have some really interesting news for you…”

 

 

Half an hour later, Bobby is just finishing relaying the events of the previous night when he hears chattering from the top of the stairs. Elder Morgan, Elder Reigns and Elder Bullock appear on the staircase, walking down and seemingly halfway through a conversation. Elder Misra appears last, apparently enraptured with his Book of Mormon.

 

“Now what I don’t understand—” Elder Bullock begins, gesturing at nothing in particular with his index finger.

 

“Everything?” Elder Reigns suggest comically, sneering.

 

Elder Bullock chuckles at this. “Fuck off.”

 

“It’s quite simple,” Elder Morgan presses on, looking exasperated. “You see, he goes back in time _by accident_ and ends up getting a knock on the head instead of his father who was originally destined to be in that exact spot so Lorraine could take pity on him and they would go on to have their son. But then—“

 

Elder Morgan is about to continue when he notices Bobby and Elder White sitting and staring (both amusedly and confusedly and, unfortunately, unaware that the two words describing their expressions rhyme, quite the exciting phenomenon to partake in) at him.

 

“Morning, elders!” Elder Morgan chirps, immediately changing his tone.

 

“Doesn’t he shag his mum or something?” Elder Reigns asks, wrinkling his nose.

 

“QUITE THE HOT WEATHER WE’RE HAVING, AREN’T WE?” Morgan continues rather more forcefully, directing an angry stare at his companion.

 

“Yeah,” Bobby replies uninterestedly, looking back down at his pile of toast.

 

Elder Bullock looks at the plate of approximately seven pieces of toast too, his eyes widening. “ _Fuck a duck_ , that’s a lot of bread.”

 

“I thought you Americans were like, allergic to carbohydrates or something?” Elder Reigns adds, looking just as taken aback at the plate as Bullock.

 

“Not _all_ Americans,” Elder Misra cuts in, finally looking up from his Book of Mormon and giving Elder Reigns an almost too-meaningful glare before returning to the text. Bobby and Elder White share knowing smirks as the other elders go about their morning activities, chatting and bantering back and forth as usual.

 

Bobby can feel an unusual tension in the air, most likely left over from last night, and it warms his heart like nothing else.

 

 

***

 

 

 

Even when he was a child, Bobby loved the viewing from afar of a third-party's drama. The thought that drama was going on elsewhere nearby and, though not concerning him, caused by him brought Bobby great pleasure. Nothing feels better than succeeding where others fail, Bobby believes.

 

When he was around eleven or twelve years old, he remembers seeing the person beside him on his table at school looking disheartened at their low test score, and Bobby felt warm and happy, because he knew at least one person was worse off than him.

 

The McKennas, down the road from the Smiths, were the richest family in the neighbourhood, and always had the best decorations at Christmas -- and they had a trampoline in their backyard. Bobby wanted a trampoline in his backyard, just as any young child does at that age. So, naturally, he told the parents of the McKenna household that their kids were bullying him at school (even though they weren’t) and that he saw the eldest child, Alex McKenna, buying marijuana from a ‘strange man in an alleyway” (which was also not true), and the trampoline soon disappeared from their yard. This was a harsh punishment, sure, but it made Bobby feel infinitely better. Now, usually, Bobby would feel bad for lying, but it was totally okay because — as Bobby puts it himself — it was just a white lie. He knew it was a white lie because _he_ is white (that’s what it must mean, after all, thought thirteen-year-old Bobby).

 

You see, this innate happiness that stems from the misfortune of others isn’t odd at all. Bobby is a very logical person, after all (at least, he firmly believes so) and it’s not like he does any physically damaging things, so it’s perfectly fine to think and behave like this, Bobby is sure of that. It’s quite simple, really. Only a fool would argue otherwise.

 

“Elder Smith?”

 

Somebody snaps Bobby out of his thoughtful daze and he whips his head around to face them. Ah, of course, he’s meant to be teaching the nice young gay ladies about Mormonism.

 

“Huh? Oh, right,” he replies. “Where were we?”

 

Pauline attempts to jog his memory. “You were telling us how Joseph ‘betook himself to prayer’…?”

 

“Can I do this bit?” Elder White asks eagerly, glancing at his companion with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

 

Bobby fiddles around with his copy of the Book of Mormon for a moment, trying to find the page again, before responding. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

 

“Okay, so,” Elder White begins, evidently shifting into his ‘I’ve read this part a million times and you are going to get just as excited about it as I am’ voice.

 

Bobby sits and smiles vaguely, looking out of the window now and then as Elder White reads ‘Testimony of the Prophet’ in an over-excited manner for the umpteenth time that day.

 

He and his companion spend the entire afternoon at Pauline’s house and even end up getting through an entire packet of chocolate-coated madeleines. The entire time, the same plan runs through his mind, and he has no idea how he is to execute it.

 

He knows that there’s not a chance in the world that he’ll be able to convert Pauline and Gen while they’re still gay. After all, there’s no such thing as a gay Mormon. Those two things simply don’t coexist. There’s never been a gay Mormon. Not _ever_.

 

However, Bobby doesn’t want to break up a marriage. Well, that’s to say, you can’t just show up at someone’s house and tell them that they have to divorce their lover in order to join a religion they’ve never heard of before, so it’s not like he’ll be able to pull the old ‘strange man in an alleyway’ trick again here.

 

But there’s something about Pauline and Gen that just screams ‘mormon’ and nothing in the world has seemed more perfectly matched before. Pauline is exceedingly welcoming — practically the definition of Xenia. Gen is very hospitable as well and doesn’t overwhelm a guest with questions, instead starting a conversation as if they are a close friend. There is something so inherently warm and friendly and _Mormon_ about each of them that Bobby is more than determined to convert them.

 

The only question is…how?

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Pauline and Gen’s homosexuality isn’t the only dilemma that Bobby faces. While he is overjoyed to have some potentially destructive dirt on Elder Misra and, of course, Elder Reigns, he isn’t actually sure what he is to do with it. Elder White has been informed of this new piece of gossip but he doesn’t seem to be too interested in it. Rather, he’s very much invested in getting Julian’s bread truck back to the mission house, providing them with a month’s worth of bread.

 

Julian has told them that he had hastily parked the bread van somewhere near the road on the way to Cahors, closely the house that he robbed that night. Over dinner, they discuss the matter of retrieving it.

 

“Why can’t we just go fetch it? Jules, you show us where it is and we drive it on back here. Easy,” Elder Bullock suggests, spooning peas onto his dinner plate.

 

“We can’t do that,” replies Elder Misra. “Whoever lives in the house he got caught nicking money from will recognize him on the spot.”

 

Elder Bullock moves onto the roast potatoes now, taking the lion’s share as usual. “Well then, one of us will have to go.”

 

“I’m going to nope right out of this,” Elder Morgan says immediately, throwing his hands up defensively. “Which means Reigns isn’t doing it either.”

 

“Aw!” Reigns exclaims, looking disappointed. “That’s not fair.”

 

“Well we’re not doing it,” Elder Misra adds. “Bad luck, Bullock.”

 

“Alright, you two are doing it then,” Elder Bullock says, turning to look at Bobby and Elder White.

 

Bobby almost does a spit-take. “WHAT?”

 

Elder Bullock returns to serving himself his food. “Jules, hand ‘em the keys.”

 

Bobby tries desperately to draw Elder Bullock’s attention back on him so he can at least  _attempt_ to make a case against this. “What, now? Wait, wait, I didn’t agree to this!” 

 

“Nobody else is doing it, Elder Smith,” Elder Misra intones quietly, shrugging. “Julian needs to get his van back before the coppers find it, which they will end up doing if we don’t take action.”

 

Bobby squints over at the other man, who looks irritatingly calm and nonchalant.

 

“But that’s not f—“ Elder White begins, but Bobby silences him and plasters on a fake smile.

 

“No, no, Elder Misra is right, Elder White,” he says, looking over at his companion. “We should take one for the team, right?”

 

“But—“

 

“ _Right_?” Bobby gives his companion a knowing look, trying to get him to follow. Elder White looks confused for a second, then sudden realization creeps across his face and he smiles back, nodding.

 

“Uh, yeah, right!”

 

Bobby and his companion get the keys and directions from Julian and climb onto their bikes. It’s only 8:08 o’clock, they can get the van and come back before 9 easily.

 

And when they do, they’re going to let Elder Misra know what they know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see you out there, shipping everything. I wouldn't get too excited if I were you. Things bout to get baaaaaaaaad
> 
> P.S Fuck you Greer


	7. The Shiz Hits the Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody is tolerant of each other and nobody says anything offensive.

The next morning, Bobby finds himself dressed and groomed already at 5:55, over half an hour before he even needs to wake up. His companion is outside, tending to the garden as Bobby instructed him.

He peers through one of the front windows of the house at the white bread van outside. He and Elder White had been unable to find anywhere more discreet to park the vehicle for the time being, and they already felt bad enough for breaking rule #148 as well as rule #150, and, to some extent, #157 (#148 being ‘Drive only Church-owned vehicles’, #150 being ‘Do not drive nonmembers’ cars’ and #157 being ‘Pray for the Lord’s protection while driving’. To be fair, they have broken various of the other lesser-known rules inadvertently before. Although, these particular three are hardly in the lesser-known category).

This doesn’t really matter, of course, as the zone leader for their mission has reportedly not been to visit for a good three months, and neither of them have seen a glimpse of him since they arrived.

Bobby takes another sip of orange juice and hears Elder Misra’s voice from upstairs, apparently berating his companion as usual.

“Every single time, this happens. Every time. You _say_  you’re not going to take a shower and then you _always do_ and use up all the sodding hot water,” he grumbles, coming down the stairs in a disgruntled manner. “I swear if you do this again I’ll— Oh, hello, Elder Smith.”

Bobby stands in the other Elder’s path, not exactly towering over but certainly standing a good ten inches above him.

“Morning, Elder Misra,” he replies, a smug suggestion of a smirk forming on his face.

Elder Misra looks rather confused at the suddenly sharp change in tone. “Morning.”

“Wanna come have some breakfast, then?” Bobby asks, stepping aside and gesturing to the table. He continues to keep the authoritative tone, pulling a chair out for Elder Misra the way one does at an interview.

Elder Misra regards the other elder uncertainly before shrugging it off and sitting down. “Sure, I suppose. Do we have any Orangina left?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, what a shame.” Elder Misra begins to look more uncomfortable as Bobby sits down directly opposite him, the table completely bare (Bobby having drained his glass of orange juice and putting the glass in the sink just before Elder Misra arrived downstairs).

Bobby crosses his arms and places his elbows on the table, a smug smile still stretched out on his face. “I just put some toast on, don’t worry about it.”

Elder Misra doesn’t reply, he simply nods and begins glancing around the room awkwardly, not sure where to look.

“So,” Bobby begins abrupty, startling the man across from him. “You made any big plans recently?”

“Ah, well, I and Elder Bullock currently have five more clients to view this week, and we haven’t planned any more private sessions with challengers yet but—“

“No, no, I mean like _big_ plans. You know, your biggest ambitions for the future,” Bobby says, leaning in expectantly.

“Oh, well,” Elder Misra starts, looking up to his right thoughtfully. “If you mean like universities, I haven’t really considered—“

“No, no, I’m not talking about college plans,” Bobby interjects, waving his hand. “Nah, I’m talking about, you know, maybe…vacation plans?”

Bobby says ‘vacation plans’ with such dramatic vigor that he feels a chill sweep through the room. These two words have never caused such a widespread sense of tension since the time his aunt was talking about her plans to spend the entire summer at the Smiths’. That had been the scariest moment of Bobby’s life — and he saw Silence of the Lambs when he was 11.

“Well, I don’t think s—“

“Like, I dunno, a tour of Italy or…a road trip around France, maybe?”

Elder Misra looks up at Bobby very suddenly, and his eyes widen in what appears to be a mix of incredulity and fear. His lips mouth something unreadable but nothing audible comes out. Bobby smiles.

“I asked you something, Elder,” he says, peering down the ridge of his nose at him.

Elder Misra still doesn’t respond, staring wide-eyed at the other man as if he just slapped him in the face.

“Don’t look so shocked, Elder. You weren’t doing that good a job of being quiet with your little discussion last night. I heard every word.”

Elder Misra gives a sigh of _relief_. “Ah, okay, so you’ll know that I obviously had absolutely no intention of—“

“I know that you and Elder Reigns were conspiring in a very unorthodox manner,” Bobby cuts in, his smirk growing as wide as his insatiable ego every second. He feels almost like a conniving Bond villain — but, like, in a cool way, not in an evil or psychotic way (obviously).

“Well, Elder Reigns may have been getting some strange ideas recently, but I have never encouraged any of—“

“—Oh, well, aha, actually, I seem to remember it differently.” Bobby’s smirk transforms into a condescending grin. “Real differently, actually.”

Elder Misra looks thrown off. “I— what?”

“Yeah, I remember you and him making the mutual decision to run off with the fugitive, funnily enough.”

“But…but that’s not what happened, we never agreed on anything of the sort,” Elder Misra says, disconcerted.

Bobby gives him a thoroughly sly look. “I know.”

Elder Misra doesn’t say a word.

“However,” Bobby continues, leaning in further and dropping his voice to a hiss. “The mission president doesn’t.”

Bobby sits back on his seat, swinging his chair back the way he did in elementary school (and continued to do despite his teacher’s warnings because he was totally punk rock when he was twelve). Elder Misra stares at him in disturbed consternation. He holds this look for a moment before looking down at the table pensively, all while not making a sound. He appears to be in deep thought.

“Speechless, huh?” Bobby asks him, mentally debating whether propping his feet up on the table to establish dominance is worth the risk of falling completely backward and smashing the back of his head on the stone floor.

Elder Misra looks up at Bobby, his face showing — not defeat. not even helplessness, but a kind of…jaded fatigue. The only way to describe his overall expression is…well, spent.

“Alright, Elder Smith,” he sighs, sitting back on his chair.

Confused, Bobby cocks his head to the side, frowning. “Heh?”

“Go ahead, mate,” Elder Misra says, shrugging and shaking his head in a resigned manner. Bobby furrows his brow, placing the front legs of his chair back on the floor and staring at the other man in confusion.

“Wait, what?”

“I know _why_ you’re doing this, Elder,” Elder Misra continues. “And I can’t really fault you for it.”

“What are you talking about?” Bobby snaps. He has no idea why his technique is failing him in this moment. His words were supposed to cause Elder Misra to panic, to beg for Bobby to have mercy, to offer him anything if he promises not to sully his name as he threatened — not to just…shrug and resign.

“I’m not stupid, Elder Smith,” Elder Misra chuckles, picking at the loose wood splinters on the table. “I mean, look at me.”

Bobby looks horrified. “Wh—“

“I’m not a typical Mormon,” Elder Misra continues. “I’m Asian, for one thing.”

“You’re not Asian,” Bobby says, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “You’re…y’know.” _Middle Eastern_.

Elder Misra appears to grit his teeth and grimace. “Mm, well, as I was saying. I don’t blame you for having your prejudices.”

“What prejudices? I’m just trying to make sure you and Elder Reigns don’t sabotage this mission,” Bobby elucidates, crossing his arms defensively.

“And you’re right, it’s your word against mine, and, to be honest, I don’t think Terry particularly likes me, so he’ll lap it all up.”

Bobby frowns even more so now. “Who’s ‘Terry’?”

“The zone leader. He’s not a big fan of me.”

“Well, I guess he saw through you like I did, then.” Bobby peers down his large, pointy nose at Elder Misra, feeling himself gain some ground again. He just got off to a rocky start, that’s all. Now he’s back in the game. Now he’ll make this guy beg for mercy.

“Right through to the wall behind me,” Elder Misra replies, chuckling again weakly. “He pretends I’m not there unless I address him quite aggressively. I feel as if you and he are similar to some degree.”

Bobby squints. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Elder Misra throws his hands up defensively. “I don’t mean to say you’re all the same, of course,” he says. “That would be rather hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?”

“What the heck are you talking about, Elder?” Bobby growls, rather more loudly and a lot more aggressively this time. He bangs his fists on the table and stands up dramatically, glaring down at the other man, who stays seated.

Elder Misra shakes his head, masking his amused expression with a slight frown.

“Would you tell me already? Stop being so freaking elusive and secretive, you gosh darn—“ Bobby snaps, his face contorting in frustration — and then he stops, pulling back and looking off into space for a moment, catching himself. After a moment of slight shock, he looks back down at Elder Misra, frowning. The other man has his eyebrows raised, smiling knowingly. Bobby squints.

“It’s okay, Elder Smith,” Elder Misra says, pushing Bobby back down onto his seat slowly. “It’s just another one of those things.”

“ _Another one of those things_?”

“Prejudice has been around for a long time, I don’t fault you for having your own biases.”

“Biases?” Bobby scoffs. “I’m not biased. I was just angry, and I lashed out. I’m not prejudiced.”

Elder Misra raises his eyebrows. “Please, Elder Smith.”

“I’m _not_ biased.”

“I’ve had to deal with this sort of thing loads, trust me. It’s just how you were brought up.”

“‘How I was brought up’? Aren’t _you_ being a little racist there, Elder?” Bobby sneers, resting his head on his closed fist.

Elder Misra closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, then opens them again, smiling rather more forcefully now.

“Well, like I was saying, I completely understand if you feel the need to ‘rat me out’ or whatever, it’s okay.”

“…Right. And…you’re cool with that?”

“Well, I would rather like to stay on as a missionary, of course, since I spent most of my life working towards this point, but…well, with Terry already having it in for me there’s not much I can do but try to make sure you know why you’re doing this in the first place. Better to know you’re racist than be ignorant, right?”

Bobby continues to look perplexed and annoyed, scowling now.

The sound of a door being unlocked and squeaking open directs their attention to the stairs for a moment.

“Alright, there you go you old nag, plenty of hot water for your poor delicate skin,” comes Elder Bullock’s voice, followed by the sound of footsteps moving across the landing.

Elder Misra stands up, walking over to the foot of the staircase.“I better be going, I can’t be late for anything, ‘specially concerning the, uh, recent affairs, eh?”

“I’m not racist,” Bobby says, standing up as well and glaring at the other man bellicosely.

Elder Misra simply gives him a gentle smile, nodding wordlessly and walking upstairs, barking at his companion to ‘get some clothes on’.

Bobby slumps back down onto his seat, scowling morosely. His companion is still outside, tending to the garden, and there’s nobody else in the room to listen to him. Even so, he mumbles again, quieter this time,

“I’m _not_ racist.”

 

***

 

About nine years ago, a prepubescent Bobby Smith was playing on the swings in the playground, demanding his mother push the swing more and more to achieve maximum momentum. Another little kid with heavily tanned skin had come over to the swings and asked Bobby to let him have a go, rather more aggressively than necessary. Bobby had been ready to just go and sulk in the corner whilst the other kid got their turn, but his mother immediately snapped at the other child, shooing them away.

“Don’t ever let anybody push you around, darlin',” she had told her son firmly but compassionately in that thick Utah’n accent of hers. “If you wanna stay on this swing ’til midnight, then by God you’re staying on that swing. Ain’t nobody gonna take away my baby’s things.”

Bobby didn’t have many friends in his childhood, but that was because he didn’t want nor need any. Bobby knew that he was special, his mother had told him that and she was always right. Bobby was a miracle child, in her exact words, and he could be a president just like George Bush one day if he worked very hard. Bobby just hoped that, when he became president, he didn’t get shoes thrown at his face. He'd always thought he’d rather be like former president Bill Clinton, actually, and play the saxophone to all his friends while teasing them for not being president. He’d have everybody call him ‘Mr. President’ and _not_ Robert because, when President Smith came into office, that name would be banned.

Another (and more dominant) reason that Bobby only had a select few in his friend group was because of how selective he was with the people he chose to associate with. While he gladly hung out with the Harrisons and the Youngs, he tended to avoid people like the Okerekes and the Berkowitzes. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but for whatever reason he just didn’t like them. Maybe it was their cooking.

“Elder White, tone it down on the violent passages, m’kay?” Bobby calls to his companion, who has been getting disturbingly enthralled in describing the gorier details of the Book of Mormon to Gen.

Pauline and Bobby are in the kitchen, discussing Mormonism as usual. Pauline, having already read most of the Book, is more interested in missionary work and general small talk about their experiences in France so far.

“He’s like a little kid,” Bobby quips, making Pauline chuckle a little. “Always gets a little too excited.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Pauline puts a kettle on to boil and grins at Bobby excitedly. “I and Gen have been planning to have a baby, and we would love them to grow up with Mormonism. We think it would shape them to be a very positive baby, don’t you think?”

Bobby shifts uncomfortably. “Aha, I mean, yeah, sure, but…I mean…How would that _work_?”

Pauline looks confused. "Eh...What?”

“Well I mean,” Bobby begins, laughing nervously and shifting his weight onto his other foot. “You two are…well, you don’t have the _vital instrument_ to make a baby…”

“Oh! Hahaha, you are so cheeky!” Pauling giggles, whacking Bobby on the shoulder playfully.

“Wh— no, I didn’t mean to insinuate—“

Pauling gives a high-pitched laugh once again. “I know, but it is still very funny! Obviously. I and Gen are going to make the child through other means. Gen does not want stretch marks, and I have always wanted to have a baby so I offered to take the child. We just need to go to the doctor and get a donation, and then—“

“Um, actually,” Bobby interjects, cutting her off. “The thing is…um, the church isn’t too hot on artificial insemination.”

“Oh?” Pauline cocks her head to the side, looking worried. “It is banned?”

“Well, they strongly discourage it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Pauline looks very defeated for a second, frowning down at the floor. A thought seems to come into her head and she suddenly beams again.

“We can still adopt! Mormons like adoption, yes?”

“Oh, sure, we’re all for adoption,” Bobby replies, shrugging, and feeling a sense of contempt for the girl rising up in him suddenly, not really due to anything in particular, just _because_. “Just…”

“What is it?” Pauling asks, frowning again.

“I mean, wouldn’t you technically need a father figure? I’m not trying to hint at anything, I’m just saying that…well, you’d both be the mom, but there wouldn’t be a dad. I just feel like you shouldn’t subject a kid to that.”

Confusion and dawning anger spreads across Pauline’s face. “Subject to what? What?”

“All I’m saying is, well, it’s not natural to have two moms and no dad. It wouldn’t be fair for the kid. They’d come from a broken home into a broken home. Uh, no offense.”

Pauline looks puzzled, hurt, angry and then furious, each emotion in quick succession of the last. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I mean, the Church generally doesn’t really agree with same-sex relationships, so if your kid ever wanted to be a missionary, he’d have to disown you and Gen,” Bobby continues, not noticing Pauline’s expression. “Which I guess is fair, if you think about it, because kids with no mom or no dad are usually messed up later in life and—“

“Get out of my house,” Pauline snaps, not even looking at Bobby anymore and instead glaring at the fridge.

“Huh?”

Pauline doesn’t repeat herself immediately, instead storming out of the kitchen and ignoring the now squealing kettle.

“Genevieve!” she snaps. Gen looks up suddenly, concerned.

“Quelle?”

“Obtenir ces hommes hors de votre maison, ils sont mauvais baguettes!” Pauline yells, pointing angrily to the door.

“Wait-- bad chopsticks? What?” Elder White asks, thoroughly confused.

Bobby grabs his things as Pauline bats at him with a rolled up magazine, shooing him and his companion out of the door in a flurry of French curses, mixed in with noises of confusion coming from Gen, still sitting in the living room. Pauline slams the door and the sound of immensely disgruntled growling and shouting in rapid French echoes from inside.

“What happened, Elder Smith?” Elder White asks, his expression only describable as akin to that of a frightened deer. Bobby rubs his temples frustratedly, His mind catching up with what just happened.

“It’s—it’s fine, Elder. Pauline and I just had a teeny tiny disagreement and we may have to stay away from this house for a while, that’s all,” Bobby explains, fiddling with his tie nervously.

“And what was this ‘teeny tiny’ disagreement, exactly?” Elder White asks through gritted teeth, frowning.

Surprised at his companions suddenly confrontational attitude, Bobby replies

“Oh, well, um, I just told her about the Church’s stance on same-sex relationships ’n’ all that and she flipped.” Bobby shrugs his shoulders, trying to brush it off as insignificant. “Anyway—“

“Oh, so you told _the gay woman_ about how our religion rejects her kind. Wow, nice going there, _companion_ ,” Elder White spits sarcastically. Bobby is rather taken aback by this response. It’s not like Elder White to be so resentful.

“Geez, what’s your problem today?” Bobby says, regarding the other man cautiously.

“What’s _your_ problem? You just lost us a client! I was really looking forward to converting them, too,” Elder White whines, pouting and reverting back into his more child-like attitude as if he just caught himself and is trying to reel in the hostility. “Gee, we really messed up there.”

“Mm, well, we better get going or else we’ll be late for our other duties, huh?” Bobby suggests, gesturing to their bicycles. Elder White nods silently, still looking vaguely guilty about his slight outburst just a moment ago. He and Bobby both mount their bikes and pedal off, a hint of optimism still left in both of them.

 

***

 

Although Bobby had had few friends in his childhood, he did have one best friend.

Erik Wesley always came to Bobby’s birthday parties, he always brought the best gifts and he always made the coolest pizzas when they had Make Your Own Pizza parties. Erik was, in general, a cool kid, the kind of person that even somebody as picky as Bobby enjoyed the company of.

Bobby, Erik and their friend Joe all knew each other since they were very small children, and they usually went around in a group. Joe was always the dorky one who would get in the way of Bobby and Erik’s fun, and they drifted away from him for a bit.

One Father’s Day, Bobby asked Erik what he would be getting his father for the special occasion, and Erik quickly changed the subject without answering. It later came to the Smith’s attention that Erik’s mother and father had split up a week before Father’s Day, much to Erik’s dismay as his father seemed to have no interest in sticking around to say goodbye to him. Bobby did his best to console his friend, but Erik had ended up becoming rather isolated from everyone.

Bobby continued to try and invite Erik to all his parties and include him in all his games but Erik seemed to stray further and further away from the friendship group. Then, when he finally seemed up to social interaction again, over a year later, for some reason Bobby was suddenly told he couldn’t hang out with Erik anymore, and if he did then Heavenly Father would be very angry.

This didn’t make any sense, but Ms. Smith is _always_ right, so Bobby followed her orders and did as she said, ignoring Erik whenever he tried to interact with Bobby and never inviting him to another event again, and never *ever* going over to Mrs and Mrs Wesley’s house.

“Fuck off!” an angry but playfully amused Elder Bullock shouts, throwing a pillow at Elder Reigns. The elders are all engaging in a riveting game of French monopoly whilst Bobby and his companion sanctimoniously read the Book of Mormon on the two small loveseats in the corner.

Elder Reigns pumps his fist in the air triumphantly. “Rue De La Paix, get in! Take that you fat bourgeoisie bastard.”

Elder Misra and Elder Morgan both flinch in unison, exchanging equally disapproving looks and shaking their heads at each other, talking in some silent responsible-person language that Bobby just vaguely understands.

Elder Bullock throws the dice and gets a seven, landing on a chance tile. “If this is another bloody useless ‘get out of jail free’ card I will scream.”

“You better not,” Elder Misra intones, glaring at his companion. “I’m not being held responsible for another noise complaint.”

Elder Bullock gets a card saying that he has been ‘elected chairman of the board of directors’ and now has to pay each player $50, which causes him to throw another pillow and curse profusely again.

It hits Bobby this time, although Bullock hadn’t been really aiming it anywhere in particular.

“Hey!” Bobby exclaims, picking the pillow up after the initial shock of the impact. “Careful, buddy.”

“Ooh, somebody’s _sensitive_ ,” Bullock teases, chuckling. “It’s just a pillow, Elder.”

“Shut up, fatass,” Bobby snaps, throwing the pillow back at Elder Bullock. There is a collective gasp from everybody else in the room, not used to the American elders using profanity of any kind, and certainly nothing of this elementary-school level.

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Elder Bullock replies, but not in the amused and friendly way that he had shot the same two words at Elder Reigns with.This time it is much more hostile, filled with a lot more disdain.

“What?” Bobby asks, giving an indignant frown. “Wow, look who’s sensitive _now_.”

“He’s right, fuck off,” Elder Reigns agrees, looking over to Bobby and shaking his head disappointedly.

“You literally just called him a ‘fat bourgeoisie bastard’ like a minute ago,” Bobby retorts.

“Yeah, but _Reigns_ can say that because he’s also a fatass,” Elder Bullock explains simply.

“Yeah,” Elder Reigns says at first, nodding. He suddenly frowns and whips his head around to look at Bullock with an offended look on his face. “Oi!’

“It’s called _sarcasm_ , Reigns,” Elder Bullock drawls, rolling his eyes.

“So you agree?” Bobby asks, raising an eyebrow. “That you’re a fatass?”

“Maybe, but you can’t call me one.”

“He’s right, Elder Smith,” Elder Morgan sighs, looking at Bobby rather resentfully. “You can’t say that.”

“Well, why not?” Bobby demands, sitting up now.

“Elder Smith…” Elder White hisses concernedly, appearing rather scared of the evidently impending row that is sure to ensue.

“Elder Bullock and Elder Reigns are friends, so they can, uh, as they say, ‘take the piss’ out of each other, but you can’t,” Elder Morgan explains.

“Huh,” Bobby scoffs, sitting back in his seat again. “Doesn’t make him any less of a fatass.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” Elder Bullock snaps, getting up and moving towards Bobby deliberately, only to be held back by his companion.

Bobby shifts in his seat, looking back down at his Book of Mormon. He didn’t mean to cause such a stir, and he hadn’t meant to use profanity, but he did both these things despite this, and there is nothing he can do to change it now.

Jules appears at the foot of the stairs at this point, reading from a little black book. He saunters into the living room casually and sets the book down, perching on the arm of the brown sofa.

“I heard shouting,” he states, looking very mildly concerned. “Are you terrorizing the Americans?”

“Ha,” Elder Reigns scoffs. “It’s more like the Americans are terrorizing _us_.”

“‘The Americans’ have names,” Bobby interjects.

“The fat-arses have names too, _matey_ ,” Elder Bullock shoots back sourly.

“How was your day of prosely…eh, Mormonizing?” Jules asks, bouncing one of his legs distractedly.

Bobby sighs, remembering the disastrous events of that afternoon. “I—we, we lost one of our clients.”

“Ah,” Jules replies, closing his eyes and nodding his head knowingly. “I see. I ask, what happens?”

“What happened?” Bobby echoes, laughing forcefully. “Oh, you know, it turns out she was gay and, even better, _married_ to another woman! Yeah, and um, I may have…let slip that, y’know, *that’s a sin* and all and…well, long story short, she beat us with a magazine until we left. But, all in all, we had a swell day!”

“Being gay is a sin in your religion?" Jules frowns. "Strange, _strange_ people.”

Bobby doesn’t reply to this, instead he simply begins rubbing his temples again, just the memory of the incident stressing him out.

“Anyway, I don’t think we’ll be hearing from Pauline and Gen again,” he says, massaging his forehead now.

“Wait—“ Jules interjects, furrowing his eyebrows. “ _Pauline_?”

“Mmhmm,” Bobby replies, not noticing the suddenly dawning realization on Jules’ face, mixed with a hint of rising anger.

“Pauline and Genevieve _Pascal_?” he asks, squinting at Bobby suspiciously.

Bobby looks up and, confused as to the other man’s reaction, cautiously replies: “Um, I think so? Her mailbox said ‘Pascal’, so I guess so. Maybe it’s for the better, we don’t wanna have homos in the ch—“

Bobby would have gone on to have a very long rant about the topic of ‘homosexual infidels infecting the church’ as he once heard a priest venting about a long time ago, but it’s rather hard to speak when somebody is throttling you and thus cutting off your air and rendering you incapable of speech.

“Jesus Christ!” one of the other elders exclaims, but Bobby can’t distinguish which one it is to call out their use of language because, as we have established, his brain’s oxygen supply is being cut off by a very angry French man.

“Ma sœur! Comment oses-tu!” Jules cries, still wrestling with the struggling young man that he continues to suffocate.

“Somebody get Jules off him, for God’s sake!” another elder shouts, curiously not taking their own command and stepping in themselves. Finally, a dark hand yanks Jules off of Bobby, allowing him enough air to continue his sentence (although, with the little common sense that he possesses, he decides against doing this for his own good).

“Woah, woah, take a chill pill, mate,” Elder Reigns says, grabbing Jules’ shoulder and helping Elder Misra sit him back down on the sofa. He attempts to take on a soothing tone, gently stroking Jules’ shoulder comfortingly. “Yes, yes, he is a bastard, yes.”

“Hey!” Bobby cuts in indignantly.

“Ma sœur…” Jules mutters, still scowling.

“Wait,” Bobby says, comprehension dawning on him as he translates Jules’ angry French mutterings. “Pauline isn’t your sister, _is she_?”

Elder Misra glances over at him and whispers “You two should probably, y’know,” gesturing upstairs. Bobby understands him, catching the resentful looks being shot at him from across the room. He and his companion make their way back upstairs, catching bits of the conversation that replaces them in the room as usual.

“Salaud…Je ne vais pas lui faire cuire du pain.”

 

***

 

Bobby sets his things down just next to the door and walks over to his bed, sitting down on it frustratedly.

Elder White sits down on his own bed, facing away from his companion.

“You okay there, Buddy?” Bobby asks reluctantly, not really up for a ‘feelings’ talk but knowing that he has to do this out of obligation as Elder White's companion.

“Nobody likes us here anymore,” Elder White replies, still not turning around.

“Well, that’s not true,” Bobby says. “There’s…no no, actually you’re right.”

“Wow, really comforting there, _companion_ ,” Elder White shoots back immediately, although he seems to regret this. “Sorry, I’m just a li’l angry.”

“I know,” Bobby replies, rolling his eyes. “Those guys are crazy.”

“Not at _them_.”

“You’re angry at _me_?”

Elder White turns around at last, and he’s frowning rather severely, and his brow is furrowed. “…Kind of.”

“Look, I messed up back at Pauline’s but we don’t need to worry about her, she’s just one challenger, after all,” Bobby begins to babble, already pulling out his notebook to start planning a visit to one of their other clients.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Elder White searches for the phrasing he wants. “You’re kind of…mean.”

“Mean?” Bobby scoffs. “I’m not ‘mean’, I’m just not a pushover.”

“You were kind of mean to Elder Bullock back there, and you weren’t saying very nice things about Pauline,” Elder White elaborates, crossing his arms indignantly. “And, I guess I agree that we were never gonna convert her without having to hide a bunch of information about Mormonism, but…”

“But what?”

“It didn’t feel right.” Elder White shifts around and looks down at his hands. “To talk about her like that. To upset Julian so much.”

“Well, it’s fine. We need to focus on our work, anyway. We can’t get sucked into drama,” Bobby replies, taking his tie off and beginning to get ready for bed.

“Like how you got sucked into the issue with Elder Misra and Elder Reigns?” Elder White asks, his voice rising.

Bobby screws up his face in frustration for a moment, then composes himself again and glares over at his companion. “That’s different. It could affect our work if two of our brothers are being disloyal to the church and conspiring to run away. We’d have to deal with it if they did. I’m just making sure justice is served.”

Elder White frowns again. “Elder Smith?”

“Yeah?” Bobby says exasperatedly, pulling off his shirt now and climbing into bed.

“Why don’t you like Elder Misra?”

Bobby doesn’t reply.

“Elder Smith?” Elder White tries again.

Bobby yawns, stretching his arms out. “I’m really tired, Elder White. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Elder White replies, sighing and still frowning. He gets dressed for bed as well and lies down, pulling his blanket over himself. “Night, companion.”

“Mm,” Bobby replies, turning over to face the other way, staring at the door. Elder White goes to sleep quickly, but, even without anything waking him up this time, Bobby can’t seem to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author of this fic is here once again to remind everyone that you shouldn't let an emotional abuser dictate what you can or cannot write, and even if somebody of marginal influence says your writing is 'pointless', you should never take it to heart. They're probably just being a dick. You do you, LoPaT readers, you do you.


	8. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby isn't insane, his mother had him tested.

Bobby didn’t grow up particularly rich. When his father left, his mother had found it hard to find work, as most single mothers do.

 

Bobby didn’t really care, of course. He was too busy with his big science project for school to really be bothered with his parent’s private affairs, but when his mother told him that they didn’t have enough money to buy one of the vital pieces to his project. he suddenly decided that he was, in fact, very torn up about his father, and when his teacher asked where his homework was, he managed to turn on the waterworks and get an honorary A+ for doing half the work.

 

Despite the mild poverty that the Smith’s found themselves in, they still had a pool, they still had their nice house — and on Bobby’s ninth birthday, Mrs. Smith had gathered enough money to get him a rabbit.

 

He had been very disappointed as he had repeatedly expressed interest in getting a _dog_ , not a rabbit, but even so he did end up becoming quite fond of the creature, naming it ‘Bartholomew’ or just ‘Barty’ for short.

 

He had Barty for a whole eight years before it died, and although his pet’s death didn’t really affect him that much, it was a shame. His mother offered to get another rabbit since they were significantly better off financially at this point, but Bobby was too absorbed in his grades so he declined.

 

Bobby kind of misses Barty now, when he thinks about it, but he tries to put it out of his mind. He has much more important things to think about than rabbits.

 

Bobby, Elder White, Elder Morgan and Elder Misra sit in the living room enjoying their breakfasts silently. Elder Bullock and Elder Reigns have gone into the garden to tend to some weeds that have been mysteriously popping up everywhere.

 

“You don’t think it’s hogweed, do you?” Elder Morgan asks Elder Misra, almost whispering.

 

Elder Misra ponders this for a moment. “Probably not.”

 

“If we have to treat any more burns or boils, I swear…”

 

Bobby crosses one leg over the other and continues to absently poke at his cheerios. The morning is so quiet and peaceful, and nobody is fighting. There’s no shouting, no commotion, no loudness. It’s sort of nice.

 

And then the back door bursts open and Elder Bullock and Elder Reigns stumble inside, looking incredibly disorientated.

 

“Morgan.”

 

“Mis.”

 

Their companions both look up at them in perfect synchronization.

 

“What happened?” they ask in unison, giving each other rather impressed looks at this feat of improvised coordination.

 

The other two boys begin rapidly blabbering, incoherent at first but, once they start taking turns in talking, it becomes clearer.

 

“MASSIVE FUCKING RABBITS.”

 

“HUGE.”

 

“THEY WERE MASSIVE FUCKING…FUCKING…” Elder Bullock trails off, making large, exaggerated gestures as he tries to think of the right word.

 

“THEY WERE _BIG_ ,” Elder Reigns contributes. Elder Morgan attempts to calm the two down, gesturing for them to lower their voices.

 

“What’re you talking about?” he asks, looking thoroughly confused.

 

“Big. Fucking. Rabbits,” Bullock says, pointing towards the garden.

 

“There are thirty rabbits in the garden. Thirty _gigantic_ rabbits,” Reigns elaborates, not looking directly at anybody, instead staring off into space as if he has been mentally scarred by whatever he saw out in the garden.

 

“Don’t you think you may be exaggerating slightly?” Elder Morgan asks them condescendingly. “Remember, _thirty_ is not the same number as _three_ ”

 

Elder Reigns grabs his companion’s shirt collar fiercely pulling him up to his eye level. “Are you calling me a liar? I counted _thirty_ rabbits. You want to go out there and see for yourself, eh? EH?”

 

“Well, if you would let go of my collar, I might just take you up on that,” Elder Morgan replies in a strangled voice, pushing Reigns’ hands away. He walks out of the back door and into the vast back garden. The subsequent gasp tells Bobby that Reigns probably hadn’t been exaggerating.

 

Bobby and Elder White stand up and follow the others outside to see these rampant rabbits.

 

Sure enough, when they peek into the garden, what they can assume is indeed thirty rabbits of assorted fur colours are scattered around the garden.

 

“Oh my days,” Elder Morgan mutters, putting a hand up to his mouth in shock.

 

“What are they doing here?” Bobby asks, leaning on the door frame and furrowing his brow. “I didn’t even think they _had_ rabbits in France.”

 

“Of course they have rabbits here. Really fucking _big_ rabbits.”

 

The rabbits lollop around sluggishly, climbing over one another and rubbing their scent on various stumps and rocks. They’re quite adorable, actually.

 

A pure white rabbit with tiny red eyes gallops clumsily over to the elders, sniffing their feet.

 

“Keep that creature out of the house,” Elder Misra calls from inside. Bobby turns around to look at him and notices that he is now perching on the sofa with his legs hovering off the floor, clutching the armrest. Bobby smirks.

 

“Aw,” Elder White simpers, kneeling down to stroke the little white bunny. “Awww!”

 

Elder Bullock rolls his eyes exasperatedly, booting the rabbit away (much to Elder White’s displeasure). “Well? What the fuck are we going to do with thirty bloody rabbits?”

 

“I don’t know,” Elder Morgan sighs in reply defeatedly, holding his face with his hand. “I honestly don’t have an answer for this.”

 

“Mis?” Bullock calls, turning around and going back inside. “Misra? What d’you say we do?”

 

Elder Misra looks rather spooked, still staring at the sea of rabbits with a rather intimidated expression. “I-I don’t know. Just…shut the door?”

 

“Thirty rabbits didn’t just appear out of nowhere,” Elder Bullock says, rolling his eyes again. “They must belong to a nearby farm or something.”

 

“Then get them to a bloody farm already,” Elder Misra snaps back, shutting his eyes and tensing up as another rabbit waddles over to the doorway. “Agh!”

 

Elder Reigns waves his hands dramatically and stomps at the animal. “Shoo! Go on!”

 

“Don’t,” Elder White snaps, frowning at him and kneeling down to stroke yet another rabbit that has made its way over to them. 

 

“Maybe we should just keep them,” Bobby suggests, eyeing a grey rabbit buck that is trying to mount one of the does.

 

“Are you mad?!” Elder Misra asks incredulously. Bobby raises an eyebrow at him as if to tell him not to run his mouth off considering what he knows, but Elder Misra barely seems to notice, still flinching every time the rabbit nearest the door moves.

 

“Look, there’s at least thirty rabbits here, we’re not going anywhere with them yet,” Elder Morgan begins, trying to regain a morsel of his composure. “First of all, let’s round them up and…and herd them into the tennis court. Then we can lock the gate and leave them there until we figure out where on earth these little buggers came from.”

 

The other elders all seem happy with this idea, nodding and ‘Mm’ing along to it.

 

“I can tend to them!” Elder White offers, grinning. “I can feed them carrots and lettuce and I can groom them…”

 

Bobby snorts.

 

“What?” Elder White asks indignantly, frowning.

 

“You can’t just feed them _carrots_ , Elder White. And lettuce is poisonous to them in large doses,” Bobby explains, rolling his eyes at his frankly _amateur_ companion.

 

“Isn’t that what rabbits eat, though?” Elder White asks, cocking his head to the side in a thoroughly confused manner.

 

“Not _all the time_ ,”Bobby replies, rolling his eyes again. “They need rabbit feed, assorted _different_ vegetables, one or _maybe_ two carrots every few days, not every day and there’s lots of sugar in just one carrot so certainly not exclusively. That’s like only feeding a toddler candy their whole life.”

 

Bobby begins pacing now, tapping a finger on his right hand with each item he lists.

 

Elder Bullock snorts, seemingly containing a laugh. “You certainly love rabbits, mate.”

 

“Well, I mean, they’re okay. I’m not like, an expert or anything, but I do know a lot,” Bobby brags.

 

Elder Reigns snorts as well. “Rabbit fucker.”

 

“For Heaven’s sakes just get rid of the rabbits!” Elder Misra shouts from inside, apparently rather aggravated now. “I’m going upstairs. Can rabbits climb stairs?”

 

Bobby gives Elder Reigns and Elder Bullock a scathing look before continuing.

 

“We don’t own the tennis courts, they belong to Monsieur Jacques, and I’m sure he doesn’t want thirty huge bunny rabbits in his grounds,” he says, beginning to pace again. “We might as well just leave them be, and they’ll go out the same way they came in. Simple.”

 

“Well, I can’t be bothered to round up rabbits so I’m with Rabbit Fucker,” Bullock replies, shrugging. Bobby gives him a harsh glare but appreciates the endorsement.

 

“I suppose _Elder Smith_ has a point for once, so I suppose I am too,” Elder Morgan agrees, nodding.

 

“Same,” Elder Reigns adds.

 

“Well, alright then,” Bobby says, resting his hands on his hips authoritatively.

 

“Alright, let’s get prepared for today’s work,” Elder Morgan commands, ushering everyone back inside and leaving the rabbits to their bunny business. Bobby gives them one last glance and notices that the doe has kicked the buck off of her now and has, in a surprising turn of events, begun to mount the buck.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

After their second client of the day, a man named Bruno Proulx who lives in Toulouse, Bobby and Elder White go to Flower’s Café for lunch and idly converse as they eat their dessert (well, Elder White mostly just pokes at his chocolate caramel cake and looks off into the distance absently whilst Bobby rambles).

 

“So yeah, he was no dog, sure, but he was cool. He got the job done, y’know? Elder White? Hey!”

 

“Huh?” Elder White snaps out of his dozing state and looks back at Bobby again. “Oh, cool.”

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Bobby complains, crossing his arms angrily. “Gah, some _companion_ you are.”

 

“I’m sorry, Elder Smith,” Elder White sighs, prodding his cake rather fiercely this time. “Can we just…not talk about rabbits for a second? _Please_?”

 

Bobby frowns, definitely not finished with the topic. “Ugh, fine.”

 

Elder White fiddles with his dessert fork for a moment, squishing the piece of his cake that he broke off underneath his fork with immense concentration.

 

“Well?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You can’t just stop the conversation dead in its tracks and then not even bother to talk.”

 

Elder White sighs and looks back down at his food again.

 

“What’s your problem today?” Bobby snaps, not used to being ignored like this.

 

Elder White puts his fork down and looks up at Bobby with an earnest look on his face.

 

“I guess I’m still a little sour about Pauline and Gen,” he replies, looking off out of the window now.

 

“Still? But that was like…a day ago,” Bobby says, frowning. “Besides, they weren’t worth it. We weren’t getting anywhere with them, anyway. And, in any case, Heavenly Father would never accept anybody like _them_ —“

 

“Shut up, Elder Smith,” Elder White shoots back at him before he can finish his sentence, still morosely staring out of the window.

 

Bobby is startled. This isn’t right. Elder White hasn’t _ever_ told him to ‘shut up’, as far as he can remember. At least, not in this almost hostile manner.

 

Most missionaries don’t know each other until they arrive at the missionary training centre, but in the Salt Lake Centre, a lot of the Mormons who go there come from Salt Lake City as it has one of the most dominantly Mormon populations in all of America. This means that a good portion of the elders training there have known each other since childhood.

 

Some exceptions have been, most recently, Elder Cunningham and Elder Cross, who both came from Provo, as well as Elder Brown, who came from Sandy City.

 

However, Bobby has known Elder White since their Junior year in High School when he was unfortunately obliged to be his ‘accountabillabuddy’ for the first couple of months. This turned into the rest of the year, as their principal at the time didn’t think that White was prepared enough to go solo. This turned into two years, and after they graduated Bobby was eager to do his missionary work and get away from Salt Lake, and White, for a while.

 

And then he was paired with Elder White.

 

Not once, during all this time, has Elder White _ever_ told him to shut up.

 

He can make an educated guess as to why Elder White is being so cold, and it must have something to do with the incident with Pauline and Gen. He probably thinks it was all Bobby’s fault. Well, that’s about to change.

 

Bobby squints at his companion, scowling at him rather aggressively. “You know, it wasn’t my fault that we lost Pauline and Gen. I only said that it was at the time to make sure you didn’t freak out.”

 

“Oh, did you?” Elder White asks sarcastically, dramatically feigning a smile.

 

“Yeah, you see—“

 

“—Because I seem to remember Pauline flipping out and calling us bad chopsticks and specifically beating _you_ up with that magazine, _Elder Smith_ , so I don’t know what convoluted story you’ve come up with this time but I can assure you that what I saw greatly differs from it.”

 

Bobby is a little off-put by this abrupt reply, coupled with his companion suddenly sitting upright and bearing a rather angry expression. He waits for an apology for the outburst, but it doesn’t come.

 

Bobby straightens his tie and clears his throat, going in for another try. “Well, sure, it may have looked like—“

 

“I don’t _care_ what it ‘may’ have looked like, Elder,” Elder White sighs exasperatedly, stabbing his cake with his fork. “Whatever happened, we still lost our best clients.”

 

Elder White glowers down at his cake and angrily takes a bite of it, chewing aggressively.

 

Bobby isn’t quite sure what to say now. He had a simple plan; convince Elder White that the Pauline and Gen debacle had somehow been his fault, pretend to console him when he breaks down from the news, and profit. Why isn’t it working?

 

“Aha, don’t you think being just a tiny bit overdramat—“

 

“No, Elder Smith,” his companion snaps, putting his fork down now. “I’m just really upset because, you know, I didn’t think that you were like that. Ever since you told me that you were going to ‘ruin’ Elder Misra…I don’t know, I felt uneasy from that point.”

 

Bobby begins to fiddle with his tie again uncomfortably. “Well, I was just exaggerating, I didn’t—“

 

And then Elder White interrupts him _again_. “I heard the _entire_ conversation you two had, Elder Smith. And…and I think I agree with Elder Misra. You’ve got something wrong with you, Elder.”

 

“ _What_?” Bobby asks incredulously, his smug disposition abandoning him as he bears an expression of confusion and, surprisingly, concern.

 

“You’re not…Well, as they phrase it — you’re not right in the head,” Elder White finishes, looking down at the miserable mess on his plate. By this point, he has completely mauled his dessert beyond recognition.

 

Bobby frowns. He feels a sense of looming upset in the status quo.

“Are you calling me…insane?”

 

Elder White looks back up at Bobby again, a look of complete, concentrated earnest on his face. ‘Well…you know what? Maybe I am.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby didn’t _want_ to spend the evening downstairs again. He wanted to just go straight upstairs so he wouldn’t have to get into any more arguments. Despite this, however, he finds himself sitting downstairs on one of the isolated love seats whilst his companion jokes and makes conversation happily — and, seemingly almost spitefully —with Elder Morgan and Elder Reigns, unable to go his own way due to ‘pointless, burdening rule seventy-two’ (as he recently took to calling it).

 

Neither Elder Bullock nor Elder Misra have arrived back yet although it’s rather later than usual, but the others don’t seem to mind. They engage themselves in joyful chatter and scripture study as Bobby stares blankly at the pages of the Book of Mormon.

 

He looks at the words, he sees the words, but he doesn’t read them. He simply glares down intently at the page without understanding anything he reads. Yet again he finds himself angrily thinking up arguments as to why somebody who is not him is very very wrong and trying to figure out how to smoothly slip a mention into the conversation that his cousin is a lawyer who went to Harvard.

 

A particularly loud (and annoying) outburst of laughter erupts from the trio gathered around the table.

 

“Hahaha no, but, seriously. I know this next passage is a little bit silly,” Elder White says, chuckling along with the other two. “But, in respect for Heavenly Father, we need to keep a calm composure when we read it. Now…”

 

Bobby frowns at the jolly young men and speaks up for the first time in an hour. “Could you guys keep it down, maybe? Since you’ve obviously forgotten, there _is_ another person in this room.”

 

Morgan, Reigns and White all ‘Ooooh!’ sarcastically at this, tittering amusedly.

 

“Ah, sod off, Rabbit Fucker,” Reigns says, making a reversed peace sign with his hands for some reason. “Alright, that passage, then?”

 

“Yeah, so, as I was saying—“

 

Suddenly, the front door bursts open and the sound of the heavy rainfall outside fills the room immediately.

 

A soaking, disheveled and discernibly panicked Elder Bullock stumbles inside, slamming the door behind him.

 

“Um, you gonna let Misra in, mate?” Elder Reigns asks, laughing uncertainly.

 

“Misra’s gone,” Elder Bullock says, his eyes trained on the floor with a completely non-plussed expression on his face.

 

Reigns laughs at first, not understanding Elder Bullock’s words through the sound of rain coupled with his momentarily very thick accent. “What’d you say? Gah, sometimes you can’t understand a bloody word he sa—“

 

“Misra’s gone,” Elder Bullock repeats with perfect diction, every vowel and consonant clear, staring Elder Reigns straight in the eyes.

 

Elder Reigns’ laugh dissipates rather quickly as his eyes widen and his smile melts into a frown.

 

“Gone?” Elder Morgan asks, frowning rather too mildly. “What d’you mean ‘gone’?”

 

“I mean he’s _fucking_ gone,” Elder Bullock repeats once more through gritted teeth, a manic look on his face as he glares at the others.

 

“…Well, where’s he gone?” Elder Morgan asks, still rather too casual about this.

 

Elder Bullock looks positively incredulous, and he grabs Morgan by the collar, shaking him. “I don’t know! He’s just…fucking…gone!”

 

Bobby slowly sets his Book of Mormon down, watching the scene before him silently.

 

Elder Reigns pulls Bullock away and begins shaking _him_. “What happened? Why’s he gone? _What happened_ , John?”

 

His voice is high pitched and immensely panicked with quick, short breaths after every sentence. Bullock shoves him off, seemingly just as flustered.

 

Bobby ceases up in his seat, not sure what exactly is going on. Is he understanding them correctly? Is this another inside joke he doesn’t understand? What do they mean by…’gone’?

 

“He just…fucked off. One minute we’re larking around in Cahors and suddenly…” — Elder Bullock sniffs and Bobby notices that Bullock, despite having wiped his face dry just a moment before, still has a couple of drops of water on his cheeks — “…Suddenly, he bloody vanished.”

 

“Well he can’t have just _vanished_ ,” Reigns insists hysterically, beginning to claw at his hair and messing it up rather egregiously.

 

“Now, now, calm down,” Elder Morgan says, standing up and going over to the two hysterical young men to console them. “Elder Misra will be perfectly fine, he probably just lost his way. He’ll be back in no time.”

 

Bullock looks enraged at this and becomes even more hysterical, most likely restraining from smashing something. “He’s been gone for five sodding hours! He could be _dead!_ ”

 

At this both Bullock and Reigns start making indistinguishable, frustrated and upset noises, and it sounds very much like Elder Bullock is crying.

 

“He’s not dead,” Elder Morgan attempts to reassure them, but even he seems to have been discouraged.

 

Bobby stands up almost in slow motion as the three other young men bicker and argue, not looking at Elder White (assuming that he’s as shocked as Bobby is).

 

He tries to say something but falls short. A very, very unusual feeling arises inside of Bobby. Something like…like he knows what they are feeling, despite not having anywhere near the same relationship as them. It’s odd. It’s almost as if he can feel the confusion and worry they are obviously going through. He doesn’t know why, but something…something strange, otherworldly, even, inside of him compels him to help in some way. An unseen force tells him to approach the others, to try and console them. But why? They aren’t nice to him, so why would he ever do this? And yet, he wants to. Some strange, abnormal desire to…to _help_ , to…display this alien sensation to them and to let them know that he can feel what they are feeling despite not being as emotionally invested in their friend as them…it hypnotizes him. Bobby doesn’t understand it, and it feels weird, but it seems right.

 

“Are…are…” he begins, struggling to figure out what he should say to express this unusual feeling. “…Are you okay?”

 

Elder Bullock, Elder Reigns and Elder Morgan all look up for a moment, slightly surprised by the advance that Bobby has made. It was rather hard to ask this question, Bobby observes, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time…

 

“Well, my best friend may be dead, but apart from that, I’m _smashing_ ,” Elder Bullock spits, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

 

“Don’t….uh, be upset,” Bobby begins, starting to get the hang of this now. “I think Elder Misra…I don’t think he’s dead.”

 

“Then why’s he been gone so long, eh?” Elder Bullock demands in reply, furiously wiping his tear-sodden face with a paper kitchen towel. “How would you know, anyway? You don’t give a rat’s arse about him.”

 

Bobby looks down at the floor, another odd sensation washing over him, except he has no idea how to express this one. It’s like a sort of numbness that can’t really be described.

 

“N-now, Elder Bullock, really, you’re creating quite a scene,” Elder Morgan says, gingerly patting the other man on the back.

 

Elder Bullock beats Morgan’s hand away, apparently rather averse to being touched right now. “I searched for five bloody hours and couldn’t find him anywhere. He’s just…gone.”

 

“Gone,” Elder Reigns repeats, his voice calming down slightly but still shaking. “Gone…”

 

“Hey, um, maybe you should go upstairs and just…lie down. Have a rest. If Elder Misra’s not here by morning, we’ll call the police,” Elder Morgan suggests, looking rather proud of himself for his plan.

 

“What about Jules?” Elder Bullock asks, gesturing to the basement where the guest room is.

 

“Well…” Elder Morgan begins. “We could always…hide him?”

 

“They’ll find ‘im,” Elder Bullock says, shaking his head and still sniffing. “They’re like bloody beagles, French cops.”

 

Elder Morgan doesn’t reply to this, apparently finally stumped. Instead, he merely repeats his original plan. “Just go have a rest. Calm down.”

 

Elder Bullock reluctantly shambles upstairs, stumbling and choking on his own breath as he goes.

 

Morgan sits Reigns down next to Elder White and begins slowly pacing the room, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

 

Bobby’s numbness doesn’t go away.

 

“Gone,” Elder Reigns repeats once again. “Gone…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that Bobby is a piece of shit and you may feel free to make a 'your fave is problematic' post about him


	9. The Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby strokes a rabbit.

It’s still quite dark outside and Bobby can hear faint chirps from the various birds that live in the garden. Unable to go back to sleep, Bobby climbs out of bed quietly in order to not wake Elder White and checks the clock. It is 5:25am, quite a bit earlier than he had been planning to wake up.

His body squirming with energy and a need to breathe some fresh air, he carefully makes his way downstairs, making sure not to let the stairs creek as they had done not too long ago when he had been eavesdropping on Elder Reigns and Elder Misra. Bobby manages to make it downstairs without a sound and immediately goes for the backdoor, slipping on a pair of sandals as he opens the volleys one by one. Once he unlatches the screen door, he steps out into the cool, early-morning air and inhales deeply.

The rabbits still haven’t left, and they seem to have taken over the garden now. A dark, almost entirely black rabbit is sitting on the outdoor dining table, wiggling its nose calmly. Bobby sits down on one of the chairs very, very slowly so as not to scare the large animal. It doesn’t move, seemingly unfazed by Bobby’s arrival. He reaches out tenuously and begins to gently stroke the head, unsure of whether wild rabbits enjoy being petted. This particular one must, as it doesn’t move away or fidget, but instead collapses its ears so that they lie across its enormous furry back and seems to purr.

Bobby continues to caress the rabbit’s head, carefully tracing the bones along its back and finding the more sensitive spots to tickle for its maximum enjoyment. He learnt this trick with Barty and it never failed. The rabbit suddenly flops onto its side, closing its eyes in approval. Bobby grins foolishly at this, all kinds of memories of his old pet rushing back to him.

He spots a warm glow emitting from the distance and realizes that the sun is beginning to rise after a long while of the sky simply turning from navy to periwinkle. He glances up for a moment, observing the area of constant blue above him transform into what looks like an oil painting — no, a fusion of an oil painting with watercolour. The sun emerges from behind the far off mountains with a steady slowness, its light seeping over the land bit by bit. The blue is slowly being eaten away by the golden rays extending from the large ball of light that is the sun creeping over the horizon, resulting in a faint purple and orange colour blending into the rest of the expanse above. Bobby can’t begin to imagine how any of this could be possible without Heavenly Father, but he doesn’t know what he has done to deserve this view.

The rabbits, that have been idly sniffing around in the dimness until now, begin to stir and twitch excitedly, perking their ears up and wiggling their noses rapidly. The rabbit that Bobby has been petting senses the commotion among its fellows and stands up, twitching its own nose excitedly as well. Bobby sits back on his chair, allowing the black rabbit to lob itself off of the table and gallop around with its friends. They begin running around in circles, jumping and twitching in the air as they go. They’re certainly not the excruciatingly wet and dull rabbits that simply sit around and get obese like the rabbits in the Pet Co. back in Utah. They’re all much more like Barty, except really, really big.

Bobby gazes up at the glorious sky but is unable to hold a smile for long. A burning sense of guilt is eating through the numbness left over from last night, even though he genuinely has nothing to do with Elder Misra’s disappearance.

_“I know why you’re doing this, Elder, and I can’t really fault you for it.”_

The same doe that Bobby had spotted from yesterday is tearing up another rabbit, biting its neck and clawing at its ears.

_“I don’t mean to say you’re all the same, of course. That would be rather hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?”_

The black rabbit starts rubbing its chin on a nearby tree, fighting off what seems to be another buck trying to do the same thing.

_“I’ve had to deal with this sort of thing loads, trust me. It’s just how you were brought up.”_

Now the doe has shoved the black rabbit away and appears to be mating with the tree.

_”And…and I think I agree with Elder Misra. You’ve got something wrong with you, Elder.”_

A large bird starts flying over to the rabbits, and one of them thumps the ground with its left hind leg, signaling the others to hide in the bushes.

_“You’re not right in the head.”_

Bobby’s eyes glaze over and he doesn’t really pay attention to the rabbits — or anything in particular, really — anymore.

_“Are you calling me…insane?” “Well…you know what? Maybe I am.”_

_”Gone…Gone…”_

Bobby can’t take it anymore. He stands up abruptly and rushes back inside, feeling nauseated.

 

***

 

“Now, the angel Moroni descended from the heavens and was like ‘There are some golden plates that I buried in YOUR backyard long ago and God wants you to go dig them up!’ and so Joseph was all ‘No way!’ and Moroni was like ‘Yes way!’ so Joseph went into his backyard…”

Elder White has been enthusiastically retelling Book of Mormon stories for the past half an hour in this tone, having remembered them all word-for-word and therefore being able to ad-lib slightly.

Bobby sits quietly next to his companion, not contributing for the most part. Instead, he simply nods along to what Elder White says, not really listening to anything except the tone of his voice.

The only reason he isn’t saying anything is that he doesn’t know what to say. Somehow, he’s forgotten how to do his job. Perhaps it’s the shock, although Elder White also witnessed the drama that went down last night and seems completely undisturbed, as he is very happily getting into the scripture reading.

“Oh, but, man, does it get _worse_ ,” Elder White continues, getting a chuckle out of Bruno. “Because then, Martin Harris’s wife was all ‘Nooo, Martin what if he’s lying aaaah’ and the manuscript _mysteriously_ disappeared. Like, we all know _why_ they vanished, but we tend to give Lucy the benefit of the doubt (even though we all know it was _totally_ her fault). Anyway…”

After Bruno sends them on their way after almost two hours of scripture reading, answering questions and eating thoroughly buttered croissants, Elder White suggests they go back to the mission house for lunch.

“It’s our responsibility as their Mormon brothers to check up on them, and since our brother Elder Misra’s recent disappearance, I think it’s only fair to go make sure they’re okay,” he says, mounting his bike. “Even though I know you probably don’t wanna see them too much, huh?”

Bobby doesn’t reply and instead just begins to pedal off after his companion, fixing his eyes on the path in front of him.

“What? Are you too good for vocal conversation now?” Elder White chuckles, slowing down slightly to be level with Bobby, smirking amusedly. His sense of humor has miraculously blossomed in the last…well, 24 hours. He even made a joke about phalluses at breakfast that, while rather juvenile, was admittedly quite funny (although Bobby would never admit aloud he found a joke of that nature funny).

Once again, Bobby doesn’t reply and keeps his eyes trained on the path. A few feet away, a small brown furry thing scampers across the road, bigger than a squirrel and smaller than a dog.

A rabbit.

 

***

 

They arrive back at the mission living quarters just in time for lunch to find Elder Bullock with his head in his hands, sitting slouched at the kitchen table over a piece of stale bread.

Elder White sets his bike helmet down and goes over to Bullock, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, uh, you okay, Buddy?”

Elder Bullock pulls his hands away from his face and his hair falls down over his forehead in a messy fringe. It doesn’t look like he even remembered to do his hair this morning.

He clears his throat and sits upright, shaking the stray hairs out of his eyes. “Ugh, um, yeah I’m fine, just…mulling things over.”

“I understand,” Elder White replies softly, patting Elder Bullock on the back. “Losing a best friend can be tough, physically or…” — he glances at Bobby for a fleeting moment before looking back at Bullock — “…metaphorically.”

Bobby sets his helmet down as well right next to Elder White’s, fiddling with the straps and not meeting Elder White’s brief gaze.

“Do you want some water? Some juice maybe? I think we have elderberry shloer in the refrigerator,” Elder White suggests.

Elder Bullock thinks about this for a second, and then shakes his head. “I’m alright, thanks. I just…the likelihood of him coming back feels so…small. He’s been gone for so long…it’s impossible for him to just be a little bit lost.”

“It’s not impossible,” Elder White assures him, patting him on the back and sitting down next to him.

Bobby looks up at them now, biting his lip to refrain from saying anything, because he can’t think of anything that would be appropriate for him to say right now.

“Hey, don’t worry, buddy!” Elder White tries, shaking Bullock gently by the shoulder. “Heavenly Father will take care of him, wherever he is!”

This seems to backfire slightly, because Bullock hides his face in his hands again, taking a sharp, shaky intake of breath. He recovers, pulling his hands away again and pushing back his slight fringe. “Right.”

The sound of the front door unlocking and opening, scraping against the horsehair rug that they use as a welcome mat, diverts the three boys’ attention to the door, through which a cheery Elder Morgan and his companion enter, carrying shopping bags.

“Alright, we bought some Pain a l’Ail and a couple of beignets on our way back and— Oh, hello Elder Smith, Elder White.”

Morgan looks rather surprised to see Bobby and his companion, almost dropping his shopping bag.

“Hey,” Bobby greets him meekly, looking back down at his helmet straps and fiddling with them again.

“Fancy seeing you two here, eh?” Morgan says, overly-chipper as he sets down the shopping bags on the table and beckons Reigns to follow him. “Good morning?”

“Yeah,” Elder White replies, nodding.

“Excellent.” Elder Morgan claps his hands together cheerfully, ushering his companion over to the seat opposite Elder Bullock and taking his own seat on Bullock’s right side. “How are we doing, then?”

Bobby stops messing with the straps and peers into the kitchen quietly, still standing up.

“Alright,” Bullock replies monotonously, seemingly rather tired of this question by now. Morgan places his hand on Elder Bullock’s shoulder just as Elder White had, frowning now.

“That’s not true, is it?” he says, trying to make eye contact with the other elder who has been staring at his stale bread far too intently. “Elder Bullock?”

“There’s a difference between ‘alright’ in a good way and ‘alright’ in a bad way,” Elder Reigns puts in, staring at the bread as well. “And I think he means the latter.”

“Ah,” Elder Morgan replies, slightly confused still. “I…I see.”

“Perhaps I am overreacting a tad but…” Bullock sighs, running his fingers through his hair shakily. “Shit, it’s just so…odd…and he’s my best mate and now’s he just sort of…gone.”

“What if he’s dead?” Reigns asks, looking up at the others with a mixed expression of terror and anxiety on his face.

“He _won’t_ be,” Elder Morgan replies firmly, glaring at Elder Reigns. “I’m very confident that he’s okay. He has Heavenly Father watching over him, after all.”

Elder White nods in agreement. “Exactly, yeah.”

Bullock shakes his head to the contrary. “But what if he is? Oh, fuck, the last thing I said to him was a bloody knob joke.”

He hides his face in his hands again, groaning in frustration.

Bobby walks into the kitchen now, leaning against the door frame that separates the kitchen and the living room and staring at the others listlessly.

“Calm down, calm down,” Elder Morgan says, looking rather helplessly around as the man beside him seems to be imitating the sound of an aggravated walrus. “ _Please_.”

Elder White pats Bullock on the should gently, doing *The Eyebrow Raise* to Elder Morgan, which he returns.

“Hey, hey, don’t be so torn up, Buddy,” Elder White says, shaking Bullock enough to get him to sit upright again. “Heavenly Father is within all of us, and as his special Stewards to the earth he wouldn’t ever dream of taking one our brothers away from us so soon.”

Bullock sniffs, not crying, but looking incredibly close to it. Bobby takes a couple more steps towards them and takes his own seat, sitting down slowly. “Elder White is right.”

The others are clearly surprised at Bobby’s words as they simultaneously all stare at him in disbelief, Elder White in particular, looking rather shocked.

“We’re all here because we are servants of the Lord,” Bobby begins. “We are all his loyal, faithful children. Why, in this time of worry and confusion, should we doubt Him?”

All at the very same time, Elder Reigns, Elder Morgan, Elder Bullock and Elder White seem to come to the same realization, blinking in surprise.

Reigns gives a small, weak laugh. “Hah, Rabbit Fucker’s right.”

“Thanks,” Bobby replies, straining a semi-appreciative smile.

Bullock chuckles at this as well, a small suggestion of his usually bright smile appearing on his face. “Who would’ve thought?”

Elder Morgan slips his arm around Elder Bullock’s back and shakes him playfully, poking his arm. “Better, then?”

“Yeah,” Bullock gives another chuckle, returning Reigns’ tiny smirk that he has just given. “Yeah, I’m fine. Fine in a good way.”

“Brilliant,” Morgan replies with a grin, patting him on the back and standing up. “Now, who’s up for some Beignets?”

 

***

 

After their first Sunday Priesthood meeting in the afternoon, Bobby and his companion return to the mission house again and check if Elder Misra has returned yet. He hasn’t.

They engage in their normal evening chores; scripture study, prayer and dinner and when the clock reads 10:20, all the elders retire to their rooms to begin preparing for bed. Bobby and Elder White are getting dressed into their night clothes wordlessly, Bobby, staying hidden in the shadows of the room — not as if he fears the light, but as if he is simply sparring it his wretched existence.

Suddenly, Elder White speaks up, causing Bobby to jump slightly at the abrupt breach of the silence.

“Hey, uh, the thing you said at lunch? That was pretty cool, man,” Elder White says, attempting to undo his tie in the mirror, struggling with the tight knot as always.

"Oh, thanks," Bobby replies stiffly. He takes off his shirt and name badge, swiftly chucking them into his open suitcase.

"I'm still kinda upset," Elder White says, giving Bobby an unusually stern look. "...But that was good."

"I'm glad to hear," Bobby replies, attempting a smile but only managing a strained grimace.

He takes off his trousers to reveal the rest of his temple garments and throws them into his suitcase as well. This action causes a piece of paper on Elder White's bed to be blown onto the floor. Bobby goes to pick it up, just managing to read the handwritten words 'Dear M' before Elder White snatches it up.

"That's private," he says, folding the letter (presumably for his mother) in two. For a moment, they both stand there awkwardly, Elder White clutching the letter to his chest defensively and Bobby looking confused. They both quickly shrug it off, returning to their night duties. Bobby glances into his own mirror briefly, checking for nothing in particular. He remembers, for a second, the last words he can remember Misra saying to him.

_“Are you mad?!”_

Bobby doesn't hate Misra, and he knows he never did. He knows that the resentment he had felt for him was nothing to do with Misra himself.

He hasn't known what true hatred feels like until he looked in this mirror.


	10. This is a Story, Not a French Textbook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which six people speak french for half an hour.

After waking up early (or in the middle of the night) almost every night this week, Bobby has become accustomed to his messy sleeping patterns and isn’t remotely surprised when he wakes up at around 4am the next morning.

 

“No rest for the wicked, I suppose,” he mumbles to himself, stretching and yawning as he sits up.

 

Bobby glances around the room, noticing the window volleys haven’t been properly closed. He gets out of bed to fix them and peers out of the mullioned windows on the other side of the volleys, down at the garden below. The rabbits are still there, snuffling and lolloping around as rabbits do. Bobby doesn’t have the energy to go downstairs to see them, and it’s too early for sunrise right now anyway.

 

He turns around and is about to get back into bed when he sees the letter that Elder White had been writing the previous night lying on the bedside table.

 

Bobby’s fingers itch temptingly, and _goodness_ is it tempting, but this irritating little morality bug that he seems to have caught recently advises him against it. After all, it’s only a letter to his companion's mother.

 

Climbing back into bed, Bobby attempts to fall asleep again. That doesn’t really work out.

 

Suddenly he finds himself sitting upright on the end of his bed, clutching the folded up letter and fingering the paper corners eagerly.

 

Bobby catches himself just before he unfolds the letter, screwing up his face in frustration. He holds this expression for a moment, mulling over the consequences.

 

“Oh, screw it,” Bobby says, unfolding the letter hastily and scanning the words.

 

 _Dear Mission President_ , it begins.

_I am writing to you to request and get approval for a mission transfer, preferably to America._

_My reasons for this request are listed below. Firstly…_

 

After skimming the list very briefly, Bobby looks away from the letter, stunned. He stares at the opposite wall in disbelief, sub-consciously folding the letter back up.

 

“Oh,” he mutters to himself just under his breath. He doesn’t even really feel hurt or confused by this, just…mildly surprised. He never thought he was that bad. Elder White has been able to put up with him for three years. Bobby can’t imagine what’s changed.

 

He carefully places the letter back on the bedside table and slips back under his bed covers, feeling a mix of guilt and mild shock as he lies back down against his single pillow.

 

He supposes, as he slowly and painfully slips back into unconsciousness, that, were he in Elder White’s position, he would have good reason to detest himself too.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bobby doesn’t usually have bananas in his cereal, but he feels ambitious today.

 

This is a bad idea, ultimately, as it will come to be that, mere minutes after making his breakfast, he will end up leaving his bowl inside as an inadvertent tribute to the flies. This doesn’t happen yet, however, so just be patient.

 

Bobby is sitting down in the living room with Elder Morgan, idly poking at his cereal, when Elder White arrives at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his jacket and hurrying off hastily. 

 

“Elder White?” Bobby asks curiously, spotting his companion attempting to rush out of the door.

 

Elder White grimaces, slowing down and hovering at the door.

 

“Heyyy, Elder Smith,” he greets him awkwardly, his tone rather unwelcoming.

 

“Uh, where are you going?” asks Bobby, frowning.

 

Elder White is put on the spot by this and, for a moment, he seems to contemplate his answer. Then, he replies,

 

“Um, well, I’m just gonna, uh, go outside, real quick, and uh, post this here letter…to my mother, obviously, since it’s prep day and everything, aha.” — Elder White chuckles forcefully — “And you can totally just…stick around here, chill out with the guys. I won’t be long, of course! Since the post box is just…right out there. Aha.”

 

“Are you planning to masturbate by the post box?” Elder Bullock asks, peering out from behind the kitchen door.

 

Elder White looks genuinely confused and slightly offended. “Wh-what?”

 

“You’re certainly acting like a pubescent boy off to lighten his load,” Bullock remarks, snorting amusedly at his own joke and retreating back into the kitchen.

 

“Well, no, that is not what I am doing,” Elder White replies with fiercely indignant incredulity. “Like I said, I’m going to post this letter to my mom, and Elder Smith can stay right here if he so wants. As I’m _sure he does_.”

 

“Mm,” Bobby says, nodding curtly. He and Elder White exchange a look that seems to convey more than words, and Elder White looks down at the ground silently, walking out of the door.

 

“Nah, listen, if you live in Tenerife, you’re either German or gay,” comes Elder Bullock’s voice, bursting into the living room. “…Or both.”

 

Elder Reigns furrows his brow. “My dad’s not German, though. He’s part French.”

 

“Oooh,” Bullock cringes, screwing up his face and shaking his head. “French _and_ hanging about in Tenerife? Blimey, he's a double threat.”

 

“What do you know anyway?” retorts Elder Reigns indignantly. “I bet you haven’t even been to Spain. Let alone Tenerife.”

 

“You two’ve cheered up,” Elder Morgan remarks, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Well, we were,” Elder Bullock mutters angrily. “Until you so helpfully reminded us of…that.”

 

“it doesn’t help that you’re calling my father bent, either,” Reigns says, shoving him.

 

Bobby stares down at the bananas in his cereal with the same brand of disdain with which he has regarded many people before it. Why on earth did he put bananas in his breakfast? Who even likes bananas? Babies? Chemists? Cult leaders? His estranged father? He doesn’t know. Probably no one.

 

Elder Bullock collapses on the sofa next to Elder Morgan, Elder Reigns following suit.

 

“Sorry for bringing it up,” Elder Morgan apologizes, looking down at his own cereal and spooning some into his mouth.

 

Elder Bullock sighs, shaking his head dismissively. “It’s alright. I probably shouldn’t just repress it entirely anyway.”

 

“Mormons don’t lie,” Elder Reigns quips.

 

“That’s right,” Elder Morgan agrees, grinning.

 

“Y’know, I don’t believe we’ve been very good Mormons,” says Elder Bullock now, sitting upright. “Sure, we’ve been doing all the shit we’re meant to be doing but…well, you heard what I just said.”

 

“And who’s fault is that?” Elder Morgan asks condescendingly, raising his eyebrows.

 

Elder Bullock seems genuinely pensive for a moment before replying. “Mm…Heavenly Fa—“

 

“No, it’s yours,” interjects Morgan, gesturing to both Bullock and Reigns.

 

“Well, perhaps, in light of our good friend’s um, misplacement,” the latter responds, shifting uncomfortably. “We should, to some…degree, consider possibly…improving upon our…questionable behaviour.”

 

‘Right, don’t strain yourself, Reigns,” Elder Bullock replies humourously, patting the other man lightly on the shoulder. “It’s tricky to even imagine, innit?”

 

“Well, that’s a very good idea, Elder,” Elder Morgan puts in, smiling appreciatively at his companion. “If we clean up our act a bit, it’ll be a lovely surprise when our brother returns from his…hiatus.”

 

“No, who are we kidding?” Elder Reigns sighs, shaking his head. “Mis isn’t coming back.”

 

At this point, Elder White’s head jerks out from behind the front door, his expression rather confused.

 

“Um, guys?” he utters, knocking gently on the door to catch their attention. “There’s a…limousine outside?”

 

“What?” all four elders in the room say in near-perfect unison. They all stand up and exit the house into the front driveway, where, indeed, a limousine parks.

 

Smooth jazz with what seems to be French lyrics emits from inside the vehicle, absorbed slightly by the dirt ground underneath its tires. The scorching hot Southern French sun causes the limo to gleam with almost heaven-like glow, reflecting blinding light towards the elders and forcing them to shield their eyes.

 

The driver’s door opens and an old man with dark, slicked back hair and a briefcase next to his feet in the driver’s chair steps out, scowling and squinting around at everyone (this could easily just be because of the sun, but there’s something inherently mean-spirited about his expression nonetheless).

 

“Mormons?” he asks aggressively in a gruff, accented voice, still scowling.

 

“Uh, yeah?” Bobby says, looking around at the others in askance. None of them seem to be any more informed than he is, so he looks back at the man. He looks vaguely familiar.

 

The man goes over to a door further down on the vehicle and slaps the window half-heartedly. “C'est sont eux.”

 

“Merci, Jean,” calls a higher yet still apparently male voice. the door is opened from the inside and a young man with dark skin and short, curly hair steps out. It’s odd. Somehow Bobby had completely forgotten that black people exist.

 

The young man stands upright and just barely surpasses the height of the car. He’s, well, tiny. He wears a smart tartan vest, a neatly pressed white shirt and freshly polished black shoes, There’s a suggestion of stubble on his chin but his otherwise youthful face baffles Bobby and, most likely, the other elders too. This man, who appears to be barely a day over 18, has such an air of authority and majesty about him despite his age that it’s almost…intimidating.

 

“Bonjour,” greets the young man, bowing respectfully. Bobby isn’t quite sure whether he’s meant to return the bow or just stand there gormlessly, waiting for him to continue.

 

Elder Bullock squints, furrowing his brow at the young man before them. A look of surprise rushes across his face and he grins welcomingly. “Jacques!”

 

You could say, by the amount of people he has been able to recognize from around here, Elder Bullock knows pretty much everybody in France.

 

It would seem that this young man is Monsieur Jacques, who is often gossiped about as he owns the handsome mansion right across from the missionary living quarters. Why Jacques found it necessary to take a limousine about five feet from his house to the one opposite, Bobby doesn’t know.

 

Jacques nods politely at Elder Bullock, giving him a friendly smile.

 

“Parlez-vous français?” he asks them, still standing up straight in a formal manner, his hands folded and resting on his front.

 

“Eh, oui,” Elder Morgan replies.

 

“Bien. Je ne parle pas anglais.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Alors,” Jacques presses on (which is a french contraction meaning, essentially, ‘let us move on’). “Je suis ici pour parler avec vous.”

 

“Continue,” Elder Bullock says, leaning against the doorframe now.

 

Jacques straightens his cuffs and fiddles with a stray hair before continuing. “Un peu d'argent a été volé à moi la semaine dernière.”

 

At the mention of money, all five of the elders tense up, some of them glancing anxiously back at the house. Jules is in the cellar right now, but he could appear at any moment without warning.

 

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence?

 

“De l'argent?” Elder Reigns asks nervously his eyes darting back and forth between Jacques and the house rather indiscreetly.

 

Jacques nods, apparently growing slightly impatient. “Ouais, et quelques lapins. Mardi dernier, en fait.”

 

Last Tuesday. Definitely not a coincidence.

 

They all shift uncomfortably again, exchanging inconspicuously worried looks. Elder Reigns feigns naiveté and scratches his head in faux-puzzlement. “Pourquoi venez-vous ici? Ahaha…”

 

“Ah, maintenant ceci est le point,” Jacques replies, letting his arms fall to his side and assuming a business-like tone. “J'ai embauche des Enquêteurs Privés me aider.”

 

He hired private investigators, notorious for digging up the deepest secrets. They would have found out Julian’s location in a matter of hours.

 

Bobby hears the cellar door opening inside the house and even he begins to tense up and shake slightly, clenching his jaw. With everything else going on, the fact that they have been concealing a criminal on their premises has been residing in the realm of unimportance in his brain, but suddenly the weight of the matter has started slowly pressing down on him bit by bit the longer this conversation continues.

 

“C'est enquêteurs sont très hostiles,” says Jacques, shaking his head to imply his disapproving of this. “Je devais les licencier.”

 

The elders are still all waiting in terrified anticipation, so Jacques continues. “C'est sont des barbares. Ils enlèvent les gens et interrogent eux.”

 

“C'est terrible…” Elder Morgan replies, shaking his head as well. “Mais pourquoi vous venez à nous?”

 

“Ils prennent quelque chose de toi. Je viens de le retourner.”

 

Jacques goes back over to the limo and knocks on one of the doors. “Vous pouvez sortir.”

 

The door is opened from the inside and the elders all shield their eyes and the reflection of the sun beams straight onto their faces. They hear the door close and all lower their arms to see who just exited the car.

 

Elder Misra.

 

“Je suis vraiment désolé pour cela,” Jacques says to him, bowing slightly and patting the other man on the arm consolingly.

 

At first, everybody is too stunned to react. After a moment, Elder Bullock’s look of surprise melts into a wide, playful grin.

 

“You slippery little bastard,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, as if finally getting the punchline to an elaborate joke.

 

“Mis!” Elder Reigns cries, rushing over to him.

 

Bobby’s mouth hangs open in shock, positively baffled.

 

Reigns embraces Misra so aggressively it’s as if he had been intending to tackle him to the ground. Elder Misra himself looks rather taken aback.

 

Elder White and Bobby exchange a look of pure disbelief, glancing back at their brother who had only minutes ago been presumed dead. He has appeared as he had vanished — suddenly and unusually calmly.

 

Elder Bullock waltzes over to his companion, still shaking his head in amazement. “You motherfucker.”

 

“Is that how you greet your friends now?” Elder Reigns asks humorously, pulling away from the embrace (much to Misra’s relief).

 

“I certainly don’t try to forcefully disembowel them,” Bullock shoots back, encouraging a small chuckle out of Elder Misra (who is still gingerly rubbing the part of his chest that got the roughest impact from the hazardous hug). He gives Misra a brief but firm hug, clapping him on the back and causing him to double over for a second from the force.

 

Bobby has to feel empathetic for Misra here. He only just stepped out of a limo and is already being viciously beaten by both of his friends.

 

Jacques looks thoroughly pleased with the joyful reunion he has initiated, and he claps his hands together, rubbing them excitedly.

 

“Bien! Bien! Très bien!” he cries, giving a bright, cheery smile. He’s close to jumping up and down — his obvious youth is practically glowing out of him.

 

“Well, would you look at that?” Morgan says, acknowledging Bobby and Elder White. “The lads are back together.”

 

As he says this, the front door creaks open and the celebratory cheers and chuckles die down. Julian steps out into the open, wearing a pair of cream sandles and wielding a garden fork.

 

“Should I just scare the rabbits away? What is—“ Jules begins, at first confused by the limousine and the appearance of Misra. His eyes flit around until they rest on Jacques and his visible wealth, and his mildly tanned skin turns deathly pale.

 

The elders all go completely silent, staring at Julian, then Jacques, then Julian again and then Jacques.

 

Jacques squints at Jules suspiciously, as if recalling something in his mind. His eyes widen (though not by much as the sun is still fully out and ruining everybody’s vision) and a look of realization dawns across his face.

 

“Julian Pascal?” he asks, frowning.

 

Elder Reigns immediately springs in.

 

“Non! Il est ... euh ... José! Le, euh ... l'homme qui tend vers le jardin…!” he corrects Jacques, smiling forcefully. “I don’t know the word for gardener.”

 

“José?” Jacques asks, quite obviously not convinced.

 

“Le jardinier!” adds Elder Bullock.

 

“Damn, I knew it was something like that.”

 

Elder Morgan rolls his eyes, shaking his head but not objecting to the façade being put on in front of him.

 

“Non, il est pas,” Jacques replies, shaking his head. “Il est Julian Pascal. Je le vois sur les bandes de sécurité.”

 

Security tapes? Who has security cameras inside their house?

 

Then again, Bobby thinks, Monsieur Jacques does live in a vast mansion. Security cameras may well be necessary. In fact, they were. The example as to how is standing right before him now.

 

“Vous êtes ... plus jeune que je pensais,” says Jacques, approaching Jules. He inspects the other man closely, eyeing his unshaven chin (which, despite being shaved only a night before, has already rapidly grown at least an inch of hair) almost enviously.

 

“Quel âge avez-vous?” he asks, squaring up to Julian.

 

“Dix-neuf ans,” he replies, standing up straight as well and measuring only a few inches above Jacques.

 

Jacques squints up at Jules, frowning again. “Qu'avez-vous dit à propos ... des lapins?’

 

“Des lapins?”

 

“Oui.”

 

“Uh….”

 

Julian glances over at the other elders, looking rather lost.

 

“Des lapins?” Elder Reigns asks again, stalling.

 

Jacques becomes impatient again. “Oui.”

 

Everything suddenly clicks in Bobby’s brain.

 

He gasps. “Des lapins!”

 

“Oh, pour l'amour de Dieu!”

 

Jacques looks like he’s ready to just bid them all adieu and return to his limo, but Bobby stops him in his tracks.

 

“Monsieur!” he says, grabbing his shoulder. “Mais bien sûr, nous avons les lapins!”

 

“Bon, parce que je commence à me sentir comme cela est juste remplissage.”

 

Jules looks astounded as they lead Jacques through the house and into the back garden, having totally evaded any sort of apprehension for being caught.

 

They fling open the back door and Bobby makes a grand gesture to the garden.

 

“Il y a les lapins,” he states proudly. Jacques looks confused, and Bobby glances behind him.

 

The rabbits are gone.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It is common courtesy in most countries to invite somebody into your house, be it that they came to talk to you, after approximately five minutes of them standing outside your door.

 

And so, after making himself look quite foolish and Jacques miraculously remembering the presence of his burglar in the same room as him, Elder Bullock scavenged the kitchen for a rogue teabag and has made Jacques some…it may have been green tea…or perhaps it was just mold.

 

Perhaps with this soothing devil’s beverage, Jacques will consider…allowing the matter with Julian to slip his mind.

 

This, however, is not what happens.

 

Jacques sips his tea, glaring at Julian from across the table so fiercely that you would think he could taste his excrement in it.

 

Bobby is situated on an armchair to the left of Elder Misra, who is sitting on the end of the sofa. 

 

His gaze is primarily focused on Misra the other man’s mere presence feeling almost incomprehensible. One minute, he was there, the next, he wasn’t. And now he’s back. It all feels so…surreal.

 

Bobby taps him on the shoulder. “Elder Misra?”

 

“Hm?” Misra shifts his attention to Bobby, giving a curious expression.

 

“Listen, I’m really sorry about…everything that happened,” Bobby begins, taking a deep breath. “I genuinely regret what I said to you and…and honestly, it was a total jerk move of me to twist that thing with you and Elder Reigns.”

 

Elder Misra gives him a wide, friendly grin. “It’s fine!”

 

He turns back to face the others. Bobby frowns, confused at this reaction. “Uh, sorry, what?”

 

“It’s fine!” Elder Misra repeats, looking back at him. “You’re okay, don’t worry about it.”

 

Elder Misra turns to look at the others again, and Bobby frowns once more.

 

"Is that it?” Bobby asks. Misra turns his whole body around this time, giving Bobby his full attention.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently, still smiling unfalteringly.

 

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry.”

 

“I know.” Misra grins now, nodding reassuringly, “That’s very nice of you.”

 

Bobby pauses, slightly lost. “Um…and you forgive me?”

 

“Yeah, sure!” Elder Misra replies.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“ _Dead_ seriously, Elder Smith.”

 

Misra holds a temporarily grave expression before accentuating the humourous element of the sentence by regaining his little grin and chuckling slightly to himself.

 

_This man is infuriatingly nice._

 

“So…you totally forgive all the things I said? And how I acted?”

 

“Well, not totally, but everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, right?”

 

Elder Misra gives him one last warm smile and turns back around to the others one again, giving an air of finality with the motion.

 

Jacques, who has been squinting angrily at Julian for the past ten minutes, sets down his tea and asks

 

“Pourquoi as-tu volé de moi?”

 

Julian sighs, looking down at his feet. The elders all go quiet, their eyes trained on the two young French men sitting opposite each other, a thrilling tension filling the room.

 

“Je recueille des fonds pour ma soeur,” Julian replies, fiddling with a curly lock of hair on the side of his head.

 

It occurs to Bobby that he never actually knew the motive behind Jules’ thievery, all he knew was that there’s a duffel bag filled with money that he had robbed from Monsieur Jacques’ house. It’s odd. It felt like Julian was a credit card scam type of guy, not a swag bag and striped clothing type of guy.

 

“Quelle? Est-elle en train de mourir?

 

Julian chuckles, shaking his head.

 

“Non, elle et sa femme sont d'avoir un bébé. Ils ont besoin d'argent pour l'insémination artificielle.”

 

Bobby was surprised enough to have learnt that Jules is related to Pauline when he was being well-meaningly suffocated on that fateful evening not too long ago, but he could have never guessed that she was a motive in Jules’ crime. Things seem to just get whackier around here.

 

“Sa femme?”

 

“Oui.”

 

Jacques looks slightly taken aback, yet intrigued all the same. He takes a brief, thoughtful sip of his tea, a calculating look on his face.

 

“Monsieur Pascal,” he begins, setting his tea down again. “Sais-tu quel âge j'ai?”

 

None of them are sure how old Jacques is, actually. He looks like one of those people who could easily be either twenty or thirty years old, and would never be able to tell, so at this, they lean in closer, doubly interested now.

 

“Eh, non,” Julian replies, slightly confused at the question.

 

“Je suis dix-huit ans,” Jacques states, sitting up straight with a look of pride on his face akin to that of a young child proudly proclaiming that they are a whole *seven years old* today!

 

The others all practically gasp. Jacques is known around the area of Estanels (and possibly all of Midi-Pyrénées) as the elusive millionaire who stays almost exclusively and his modest mansion (modest in relation to other mansions, that is). There has never been a mention of his parents or any other sort of guardian. It could be assumed that the old man who was driving the limousine is his authority figure, but if anything Jacques had more authority over him and treated him with the respect you would treat a simple driver. It’s all very confusing.

 

Julian looks astonished. “Dix-huit ans? Sûrement pas!”

 

Jacques nods, still grinning proudly. He suddenly remembers the original topic of the conversation, however, and immediately resumes his severe expression.

 

“Oui, bon,” he says, taking another dainty sip of tea. “Alors, permettez-moi de vous poser une autre question.”

 

More questions? At this point, it would do them all much better if he just apprehended Jules already.

 

“Eh, okay?” Julian replies.

 

“Voyez-vous la couleur de ma peau?” Jacques asks him, gesturing to his exposed hand and wrist, specifically the skin.

 

“Uh…” Jules gives the elders a look of askance, but they shrug in reply, equally as confused. “Oui…?”

 

Jacques nods. “Bon. Alors, dites-moi —Vous auriez volé de moi si je suis une personne blanche?”

 

Jacques stares at Julian expectantly, letting the question sink in.

 

Bobby looks at Jules, then at Jacques, and then at Jules again. Neither of them say a word, instead they seem to glare at each other in a sort of deeply meaningful staring competition.

 

“Je ne comprends pas,” Julian replies at last. “Je ne savais pas qui vous étiez ou ce que vous ressembliez.”

 

“Si vous saviez que j'étais une personne blanche,” Jacques reiterates. “Vous avez volé de moi?”

 

It’s a simple question, but it feels so loaded. Even if Bobby doesn’t have to answer it, he can imagine the connotations of such a query.

 

Julian sighs, looking down at the ground defeatedly. “Agh, oui. Je suis honteux, mais il est vrai.”

 

Jules continues to stare at the ground, slumping over and resting his elbows on his knees.

 

Elder Reigns pats him lightly on the back. “‘Ah, mon pauvre. It’s alright, mate.”

 

Jules briefly shoots him a skeptical glance before looking back at the ground.

 

Looking rather satisfied, Jacques takes a final sip of his tea and stands up.

 

“C’est ça, au revoir,” he says, straightening his cuffs and making for the door.

 

Everybody’s attention is suddenly on Jacques as he prepares to leave.

 

“Eh?” Elder Bullock asks incredulously.

 

Elder Reigns whacks him on the shoulder. “Shush! He’s letting him off!”

 

“Well, why?”

 

Jacques stops, spinning around on his heel to face the others.

 

“Il n'a pas volé de moi parce que je suis noir - il a volé de moi parce qu'il avait besoin de l'argent.”

 

Julian looks positively astounded, his mouth agape.

 

“Tout le temps, les gens me traitent différemment parce que je suis riche et noir,” Jacques begins, sighing. “Ils le font parce qu'ils sont jaloux de moi. Ils n'aiment pas un homme noir ayant de l'argent.”

 

The elders, Bobby included, are taken aback by his words, but not completely surprised by the notion he puts forward. It’s no secret that some people can’t stand the thought of a man of colour being wealthy where they are not.

 

Most families in Bobby’s neighbourhood had been white, but there was one family, the Okerekes, who moved from Texas. The mother of the family was working in the pharmaceutical line of work, the father in law, and they did well for themselves. Joshua Okereke always had the cool toys and rode around on a new bike every six months, and he even had the audacity to try and be friends with Bobby. Bobby hated this. He couldn’t understand how a family could go from modest wealth to prosperity in a matter of months. He couldn’t understand how an African-American family could be rich. It just didn’t add up in his mind.

 

Jacques is quite different, however. When Bobby looks at him now, he sees a wealthy man before he sees a black guy. Perhaps it’s the lack of a stereotypical African-American accent (Jacques sounds more like an egregious French stereotype than, say, Eddie Murphy). It makes sense, of course, because Jacques is apparently entirely French. Bobby begins to worry that overthinking this may just worsen his current situation, so he pushes it to the back of his mind.

 

“Vous avez volé de moi seulement pour aider votre sœur. Si j'avais une sœur, je lui chérir la même manière que vous chérissez votre sœur,” Jacques continues, approaching Julian and grabbing his shoulder. He holds his gaze on the astonished young man before him, a look of earnest spread across his face. “Si vous promettez de ne plus jamais être un voleur, je vais vous laisser aller libre.”

 

Jacques pats Julian gently on the shoulder and makes for the door once again, bidding the elders a friendly farewell before closing the door.

 

“Oh, thank goodness he left,” Elder Reigns sighs, letting out a puff of air as if he had been holding it for the whole twenty or so minutes that Jacques had been there. "I thought we were going to have to speak French for the rest of the chapter.”

 

“Well, that was certainly a success!” Elder Morgan says, clapping and rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “Lovely to see you again, Elder Misra.”

 

“You too, Elder Morgan,” Misra replies, nodding in Elder Morgan’s direction.

 

Bobby is still thoroughly unsatisfied with Elder Misra’s brief and far too easily attained ‘forgiveness’, but he at least feels marginally less anxious about everything.

 

“You know what this calls for?” Elder Bullock says, standing up and looking around at the elders and Julian.

 

“A nice long rest?” Elder Reigns suggests, yawning slightly.

 

“No,” Elder Bullock intones, rolling his eyes. He gives his newly returned companion a devilish smirk, and the two exchange knowing looks.

 

“Curry night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh bobby why are you so surprised that elder white's leaving didn't you read Land of Gnomes and Trolls


	11. Alazian Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby Sucks it Up™ and uses his 20-pound lifting power to labouriously turn over a new leaf ft. Elder Reigns, who is not very good at escaping the grasp of his fellows.

“It’s just like, all animals have brains and…stuff, so they must have emotions. That means it’s gotta suck when they find out ‘hey, we’re gonna die tomorrow’.”

“Why are you talking about this, Elder White?”

“All I’m saying is maybe vegans have the right idea, y’know? I mean, did you see that Super Size Me documentary? That was messed up.”

“Yeah, because all the results were faked.”

“Whatever, that’s not the point. Pigeons totally have feelings.”

For the first time in 3 years of knowing each other, Bobby and Elder White seem to be mutually enjoying each other’s company.

Elder White and Bobby discussed his companion’s transfer during their companion study and Elder White explained some of his reasonings behind it. He expects a letter back from the Mission President in about a day.

They arrive downstairs after having finished up their companion study for the day, ready for a short break before they move onto their language study (there are a few church-approved videos scattered around the mission house that they’ve been planning to watch). A commotion appears to be going on in the living room and they peer over to where the noise is coming from curiously.

“What _are_ you on about?” comes Elder Bullocks’ incredulous voice.

At the door, a flustered Elder Reigns has his suitcase by his side, a hand on the front doorknob.

“I’m leaving,” he says simply, an adamant expression on his face.

“Why?” asks Elder Morgan in an utterly bewildered tone. “Aren’t we meant to be serving the Lord with our work? Do you _really_ think leaving is the best thing for you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Bobby glances at Elder White, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Elder Reigns is turning the doorknob and about to push the door open when Bobby steps in, assuming an authoritative manner he hasn’t used in a while.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone, Elder?” he says, leaning against the banister.

Elder Reigns stops in his tracks, slowly turning to look at Bobby. Bobby glances at Elder Misra, who is sitting on the sofa and trying to stay out of the argument, and winks. Elder Misra returns the look briefly, smiling back.

“ _You little shit_ ,” Elder Reigns hisses, squinting at Bobby suspiciously. “How do you know anything about this?”

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” asks Elder Bullock exasperatedly.

Elder Misra chuckles slightly, shaking his head and looking down at his Book of Mormon. When everybody is distracted slightly, Elder Reigns flies the door open and sprints out, his suitcase trundling along behind him.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Elder Bullock says, rushing out after him with Morgan following suit.

Elder Misra sighs, setting his book down and getting up. “Well, I suppose I should go after him.”

White is already out of the door, rushing to join the others. Elder Reigns can be seriously fast when he needs to.

Elder Misra makes for the door as well, but Bobby stops him before he can leave.

“Hey! Wait, um, _Mis_.”

Misra hesitates, turning around to face him. “Oh, um, yes?”

“I’ve, uh, decided against telling Terry about the whole fictitious conspiracy story…thing.”

Bobby fidgets slightly, still feeling rather ashamed of his failed attempt at manipulation a few days ago. Elder Misra doesn’t look surprised so much as rather pleased.

“Oh, that’s great to hear,” he says, smiling and nodding assuringly. He is about to turn around when Bobby stops once more.

“Oh, and, Elder Misra?”

“Yes?”

“I…I don’t like being like this,” Bobby continues, “What I mean is — I don’t like judging everyone so harshly from the second I meet them. I don’t like this sudden sense of guilt I’m suddenly feeling whenever I look at somebody and instantly feel contempt for them just because of the colour of their skin or…who they’re _with_. It’s like everything I knew about treating people my whole life until now was totally a lie. All because…I guess had an epiphany. And I sorta have you to thank for that”

“I see.”

Bobby, gaining confidence now, presses on with his point. “Yeah, and, I guess it wasn’t exactly a super immediate change but…I dunno, it felt like, out of nowhere, I suddenly felt like the worst person alive, and only a moment ago I had felt like the bees knees.”

“The bees knees,” Elder Misra repeats, laughing slightly. “What an odd phrase.”

“Yeah, well, anyway,” Bobby continues. “I suppose what I’m trying to tell you is…I wanna change. I don’t want to be this person who lies to authority figures and gets people put in jail or forces their companion and friend of three years to want nothing to do with them anymore. I wanna change, Elder Misra.”

It is an incredibly sappy and possibly pretentious soliloquy, but it gets the message across. For once, Bobby is being entirely genuine in his intentions with his words.

Elder Misra looks thoughtful for a second and then, in a most generous act, gives Bobby one of his most charming — almost attractive — smiles.

“Well, that’s brilliant,” he says softly, grabbing Bobby’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “That means you’re already partway there.”

 

***

 

It takes a lot for somebody to change the way they think. For some people, it takes years. For others, it may only take months or even weeks.

For Bobby, it took him 19 years of skeptical glances from onlookers, hisses of disapproval from elders (in the common colloquial use of the word), eye rolls from people who knew him well enough to simply expect such behavior from him and the occasional concerned look from his mother, which was always quickly dismissed with a hug and a pat on the back with the promise of a twinkie if he was a *very good boy*.

Now, to most people, this may seem rather unimpressive. But, you must understand, self-confidence in the mind of a narcissist is something like a slope. It escalates throughout life getting higher and higher as it goes on. There is always an inevitable 90° drop at some point in the lifetime. Some have it right at the end of their life and realize only moments before they die that they have lived their entire life in bitterness and arrogance. Others get lucky and have their inevitable drop at a young age, giving them a chance to turn over a new leaf. Good, wholesome, non-terrible people don’t have an inevitable drop. They have continuous graceful waves of medium-high and medium-low self-esteem. Lucky cunts.

The inevitable drop is almost always followed by a slow, far more humble yet still relatively optimistic rise that continues similarly to that of a good, wholesome, non-terrible lucky cunt’s line of self-confidence. There may be the occasional spike up or down, but soon it shall return to its original, calm state.

This is, more or less, what happens with Bobby.

Now, of course, he hasn’t become miraculously reformed overnight. You’d have to be a character on the popular children’s television drama serial _My Little Pony_ to achieve that hasty change of morality.

No. His change may have been drastic, but not _that_ drastic. Being a fine, upstanding, kind of racist Mormon, he does have his beliefs, and despite the events of the first week of his mission, he has not forgone them. You’d have to be utterly _insane_ to call a religion and all its ideologies you’ve been dedicated to for your whole life into question simply due to a few unpleasant days on your mission. Can you imagine somebody doing that? Exactly. That would _never_ happen. _**NEVER**_

Despite this, Bobby does intend to improve a little. If not for those who have already long given up on him, he will do it for himself as he has done most things in the name of. And, perhaps, he will do it in part as a tribute to those he has wronged. Well, namely Elder Misra, seeing as he suffered over 24 hours in the hands of reportedly ‘barbaric’ private investigators (he still refuses to share details of his time in their imprisonment).

In the end, leopard’s can’t change their spots. They can paint over them and that’ll work well enough for a while, but every now and then their old spots will be exposed for a while until they can apply a fresh coat of paint.

Although Elder Reigns eventually returns to the mission living quarters and begrudgingly continues his missionary work, his desire to travel across the country still flickers in his eyes every time he catches sight of a car or a bus.

Now that Elder Misra has returned home, Elder Bullock and Elder Morgan have resumed their frequent arguments — although they seem to be significantly less violent ones now and are rather more half-hearted, usually ending more quickly and generally with more agreements.

Elder White, for the last month that he stays in France, continues being his moderately clumsy but all-around well-meaning self, although he does have a rather more fierce and defiant attitude now, teasing Bobby quite harshly when he says the wrong thing or messes up in some other form. When he does leave, though, Bobby can definitely detect some small things like the suggestion of sorrow etched on Elder White’s face, the head of a tear peaking out of the corner of his eye, the slightly tighter grip in the final, brief hug that all indicate more than the bitter disdain he previously began to express. Elder White has never been one to hold grudges.

Jules goes about his day as usual, and he has a bit more freedom now that Jacques told the police that Jules Pascal doesn’t exist and he actually just made him up because he had had a psychotic break, and there is no need to worry because it turns out his rabbits were in his back garden after all and he just went blind for about a day, that's all.

And, lastly, even after all that’s happened in the previous week, Bobby isn’t planning on giving up the beliefs concerning religion that he has held for so long. He will still remain chaste until marriage, he will still regularly praise Jesus Christ through prayer and missionary work, and he will still wholeheartedly have faith in Heavenly Father. He’ll just do all that without manipulating people for his own selfish needs this time. Hopefully, that’ll turn out better.

See, this leopard may not be changing its spots anytime soon, but it has a bunch of paint pots laid out infant of it that it now has the opportunity to use correctly.

He’s only nineteen, after all. He’s got his whole life to make things right.

Everybody has a talent. Bobby’s is talking. And now, he’ll use it the way God intended; to spread the word of Christ and bring good to the world.

His mother will be so proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it's finally over. This took me a while, but it's finally done. 11 chapters, in all, same as LoGaT. It's been a wild ride, my friends. Thanks for ridin' it along with me ;) Please feel free to comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed the story and I'm incredibly grateful to all those who have taken the time to read this fic and to those who contributed to the small cult following it gathered. You're all amazing and I love you so much. I will end this final chapter with a note for all reading right now:
> 
> Don't let people tell you what you can or cannot write about.
> 
> They do not own your mind. Only you can decide what you put to paper, and if they try to restrain your hand do not let them. Write to spite them and prove them wrong, by all means, but most of all: write because you want to. If they don't like it --
> 
> Tough tits, mon ami.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading Land of Pastries and Turtlenecks!


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